Tantum
by Bitter Shade
Summary: Six years after watching the man she loved self-destruct in drugs and fame, session drummer Bella Swan is brought face to face with the wound that never quite healed. A little dark, but with windows. Mature: sex, drug references. AU/AH Canon pairings.
1. First Layers

**Nothing is mine.(Obligatory)**

* * *

><p><strong>TANTUM<strong>

1. First Layers

"One."

Beat.

"Two."

Beat.

Tap.

Tap.

Tap.

Tap.

The peal of the snare drum split the silence like a rip of thunder, deafening in accompaniment with the hard strike against the crash cymbal. From there, the rhythm erupted, fast, clean and precise against the soundproofed walls. The bass drum thumped in double time and the first layer of the song took life, the preliminary foundation etched on record.

There was always a fierce rush about playing this fast and hard, and it wasn't a frequent occurrence afforded to a studio musician. Most rock and punk bands had their own drummers and had no need of a studio supplied percussionist. Granted, time and effort paid off in the industry and once a little respect was earned the opportunities were abundant enough to be picky about the work. Every second of a job like this one was to be relished.

Just as long as they didn't insist upon twenty takes. Already, though, she knew this one was solid. Everyone in the booth watched with heads nodding in time to the beat, looks of elation upon discovering a perfect fit to their works-in-progress, and the sight gave every indication that this was a one-take deal. Every roll and sixteenth-note fill was in perfect sync, the strokes heartfelt and visceral, adrenaline fueling the sticks as the rhythm barreled toward the song's climax.

It was a four and a half minute high, though the after effects were usually lasting, given the right circumstances. As the last strike against the crash rang out, she hoped this would be one of those times. She hadn't played like that in a long time.

A voice crackled over the little speaker in the top corner of the room. "Classic shit, Bella. We got it."

The brunette at the throne smirked and removed her headphones, standing with a nod toward the men behind the glass, all with satisfied expressions. Stretching her legs and arms before setting the sticks across the snare, she gave an appraising once-over to the set of white Gretsch drums. Not her usual choice for the music type, but her set of Pearls was in the shop getting some much needed work and she couldn't deny these had performed well for her. Shuffling through the door that adjoined the rooms, she was immediately handed a bottle of water. She eyed it with raised brow.

"It was one take. Is my stamina being insulted?" she asked, her lips twisting into a crooked smile at the man who had handed her the bottle.

Michael, or the self-dubbed "Mix Master Mike" Newton just half-grinned and looked away awkwardly, and she realized it probably wasn't the wisest thing that could have come out of her mouth.

It was then she gave her attention to the other two men in the room, one with the awestruck look on his face, and the other, a bassist named Embry, fiddling with various dials in Mike's mixing board. The one staring at her was a little disconcerting, though. Jacob Black was green in the industry, this being his first major album, and it showed. His music was good, nothing ground-breaking or terribly original, but he had a lot of talent. Just not enough experience to know that major record labels usually meant tremendous artistic sacrifice. He'd learn.

Mike served as a momentary distraction from the tall Jacob Black, a look of annoyance on his face as he reset everything on his board that Embry had moved. Once he made a show of putting everything where it belonged in precise and purposeful motions, he hit a the playback button with a great sigh. Mike was a narcissist like that. Dictatorial and territorial over his profession. It was not without reason, Bella knew having working with him for the last couple of years since she'd joined Entity records. Some people just had exceptional skill and talent, and their righteousness was at least well-earned, even if it was rather off-putting and irrationally displayed. Mike was just mostly irritating, at worst, although he wasn't quite as bad as some people she'd known in her musical career when it came to staunch perfectionism. Not quite as bad as...

Once she realized she'd veered into a line of thought she did not want to pursue, she turned her attention back to Jacob, who was still giving her those sidelong glances of reverence. It looked like she wasn't going to easily avoid conversing with him over... whatever it was he looked like he was dying to blurt out. She quickly decided on a diversionary tactic.

"Are you okay with it?" She pointed with the water bottle in the general direction of the board as the recording was played back for them, hoping to just break the ice and get that enthralled look off of his face.

"Yeah, I just... didn't expect," he stammered, shaking his head. "I mean, I already knew that you were good. I know of your work with The Collective, James Finch, not to mention I'm a huge _Tantum_ fan. A few of those early recordings were you, right?"

Bella just gave a half-hearted smile and nodded, indulging him even as a brief and expected twinge of dejection stabbed through her chest. Speaking of that line of thought she didn't want to pursue...

"It's just so different seeing you play in person. Why didn't you ever do something more, er, permanent? To be able to write and tour and all that?"

Bella resisted the urge to sigh and shrugged, opening the water bottle and taking several heavy gulps. Just delaying the inevitable, she knew. It was a question she heard fairly regularly.

"I tried, but the lifestyle, the limelight," she began with a shrug, idly screwing the cap back on the bottle with one slow twist, "it just wasn't where I wanted to be. I'm happy just to play, and help out other musicians. Primarily those with talent," she finished pointedly.

It was a little evasive, she supposed as she watched his lips quirk into a shy grin, but it was still an honest answer, even in its brevity. Jacob didn't appear to be satisfied, however, and opened his mouth to speak.

"Sounds great, Bella," Mike interjected before Jacob could make a sound. "I think this is all we'll need for this one. Would you guys agree?"

They both looked in Mike's direction to give a nod before meeting eyes again.

"Well," Jacob finally spoke again, "I look forward to completing the rest of these tracks. With you behind the kit, I think we'll come out way ahead of schedule." The tall, golden-skinned musician smiled more brightly then. "Good to meet you, Bella."

Bella smiled. "Just part of a session musician's job, to learn fast. 'Night, Jacob."

She was just making her way out the door when Mike's voice stopped her.

"Oh, Bella, I guess Seth Clearwater called." He held up a thin wisp of paper, his other hand up in a pose of preemptive defense. "Lauren took the message and brought it in while you were recording."

She chuckled and took the slip, knowing well that meant there was no way to determine just how long ago the call was received, or what it was regarding. Lauren Mallory was not exactly one of Entity Records' most efficient secretaries. Bella was still trying to figure out who Lauren had screwed to get the job, because she was certain it was the only conceivable way anyone would hire the girl. "No worries. Night, Mike."

"See ya, Bella," he offered with a bright smile as she closed the booth's door behind her.

Her cell phone was already in hand by the time she was in the elevator, no texts, no missed calls. Slowly, she pecked at the number keys until the combination was complete, and she heard the telltale click of connection just before the inevitable ring. One ring, then another, and another.

There was no answer, just the voicemail recording. She didn't leave a message.

Biting her lip as the elevator doors opened again, she stepped out onto the marble floor, her thick-soled black boots making dull thuds against the smooth texture as she walked out of the heavy glass doors. She talked to Seth every once in a while, but it had to be something important if he was calling her at the studio, directly. Everyone knew she couldn't hear her own cell phone ringing half the time for as much as she was behind a kit, but it was customary for most people that knew her just to leave a message and wait for a call back, which she usually tried to be prompt about. It certainly made it appear as though Seth was desperate to reach her, though. Seth almost always just sent her texts to call him when she had a few minutes.

In spite of the resistance she usually felt when it came to talking with Seth, hearing his voice would bring some comfort. They'd always been friends, even through the darker parts of her career. He was one of the few people she could talk to when those moments of weakness threatened to crumble the ground beneath her feet, whenever she would think too hard on those few bittersweet years of her life when she had just been starting in the industry. Those painful moments of recall came fewer and farther apart these days, thankfully, but Seth kept her linked to a buried part of her she wasn't sure she'd ever be ready to completely sever. She'd gotten past the stage of near-breakdowns, though she felt those little stabs every now and again when she thought on it, which, admittedly, she tried her hardest not to do. That was difficult, though, when a great portion of one's career was built around that specific period of time, which everyone felt compelled to bring up reminders of at every opportunity they got.

Seth was the one person that could get away with drudging up the past, and was the one person that let _her_ indulge when she wished to talk about it, as rare an occasion as that was becoming. He'd lived through a great deal of it, and was therefore the only person that she could honestly cathect with over any of it.

The fact that he was calling her now, and the sense of urgency she'd extracted from his choice to call the studio directly when he could have just left a voicemail or a text or _something_ left her with some creeping anxiety. If not his own crisis, then it would be the more likely scenario revolving around a mutual... friend, for lack of a better word, of theirs. If anything _had_ happened, she was certain Seth would want her to know first, before she heard it on the news or the radio, or some other impersonal medium. Seth knew that _he_ would want her to know before the rest of the world did. She had to admit that she returned that sentiment.

There was one other likely option for where the elusive musician might be. Her thumb was still poised on the keypad of her phone, hovering over the first digit of a number she hadn't dialed in a very long time. Only once she got into her old Chevy truck did she manage to finish the sequence. It rang twice before the line was picked up.

"Flood Records."

The female voice on the other end was unfamiliar. "Yeah, I got a call from Seth, and wanted to know if he was there."

"And you are?" the woman asked in a professional, if impatient, tone.

Right. You couldn't just call Flood Records and ask to speak with someone famous. "It's Be-... look, just tell him I've still got his _Bone_ _Machine_ vinyl. He'll know who I am."

"One minute."

Bella tapped on the wheel, idly letting her eyes roam over the darkening California sky. The Hollywood Hills were visible from this parking lot, lights twinkling from great span of giant Hollywood mansions. For a moment, she felt a familiar and sharp twist in her gut, but was immediately distracted by the sounds of voices on the other side of the phone. Apparently the new girl didn't use hold buttons.

"Seth, there's a girl on the line that says she has your _Bone_ _Machine_ vinyl?"

There was a series of rustles before another voice came on the line almost a half-minute later. "Bella?"

"Hey, Seth," she greeted, fighting to keep her voice from betraying the worry that was beginning to seep into her veins.

"Hey, I was expecting a call on my cell, but can't say I'm complaining. I'm just glad you called me back. Always great to hear your voice."

Her lips pressed together and she let her gaze drop to the center of the wheel, relieved that he at least didn't sound as though he had terrible news to break. "I was just thinking the same about you. And I did call your cell. You didn't answer. I didn't, uh... cause any trouble there, did I?"

A nervous laugh crackled over the line. "Nah. I mean, he was sitting right there with me when Heidi mentioned _Bone_ _Machine_. And he knows there are only so many people I'd loan my Tom Waits to. He didn't say anything, though."

She returned the awkward laugh, fighting off another grimace, but deep down felt another wave of relief. Everyone there was okay. _He_ was okay. "Whoops."

"It's cool. He knew I was trying to get in touch with you. Thinks I'm wasting my time."

Her eyebrows raised at that. "Alright, I'll bite. What's up? The call to the studio had me a little concerned. Usually, you just text to call you back, but..."

"Oh, shit, Bells, no," Seth interjected immediately. Of course he would know right where her mind had gone. She wasn't sure if she should feel shame or comfort in that fact.

"Nothing like that," he continued. "There's some, uh, business to discuss, but everything's cool on that front."

"Business?" She was starting to feel leery for an entirely different reason now.

There was a pregnant pause, and Bella let her eyes wander back up toward the hills, squinting as though she could narrow in on his position. "Seth?"

"Caius quit."

For a second, she forgot how to take a breath. Carefully inhaling, stared out into the hills, a cold inkling creeping over her and forming goosebumps up her arms, out of place in this seventy-eight degree weather.

There was no way he was going to ask what it sounded like he was going to ask, was there? "Okay. And you needed to tell me... because... this effects my life...?"

Silence.

"Seth?"

"Yeah?"

"..._how_?" she asked, absently tossing a hand up to emphasize the obviousness.

"Bells," he drawled out, his voice suddenly oozing saccharine sweetness, and a big grin she could hear clearly through over the distortion of the phone.

Her stomach sank. "No... you're not going to ask what I think you're going to ask, are you?" Her voice was grossly more whiny than she would have liked. She winced.

"You're great, you know the material, and you're always available." His voice was suddenly stern, much to her surprise. Seth was one of the most mild-mannered people she knew, a quality most rare for such a well-known musician. "Come on, Bella. It will be great."

"Sure, like last time?" She drew in a sharp breath through her nose. "Seth, look, I appreciate that you thought of me but... come on, you know how ridiculous this is to ask. It's been six years, I've got a good thing here, and a lot of work lined up. It's not like I sit around twiddling my thumbs, struggling from one opportunity to the next-"

"Bells-Bella. _Bella_," he was saying through her short rant, sighing when she cut herself off. "I know that, Bella, trust me. You're almost a damn legend in your own right, but you know I'm not asking out of charity, and I know how busy you are. I'm asking because you're the only one that can do this on such short notice. Busy or not, you aren't tied up in any long term shit. Caius is out for good, and no one else that knows the material is gonna come back to help us out. You know that."

In spite of the rush of panic that was pounding at her skull for some attention, she let an ironic snicker slip past her lips. "So he's still just as hard to work with, in other words."

"You have no idea," he grumbled, then sighed again. "But if anyone can handle him, you can."

Closing her eyes, she leaned her head back against the rear window. "And you're sure that Mase knows you're calling me?"

"Yeah." Seth chuckled. "I don't know how he felt about it, but you know how he is. I suggested you and he just shrugged and said, 'alright, good luck, but you're probably wasting your time' then took his damn dog for a walk."

Yes, that sounded about right. Lifting her head to stare out to the hills again, her voice dropped to a murmur. "I don't know. You know how fucked up this could all get."

Not to mention that six years was obviously not enough time to solder the pieces of her life back together, if those sharp stabs of utter depression each and every time she thought about that part of her life were any indication.

"I know," he replied just as quietly. "But... things have changed, I've told you that a hundred times. They're _still_ improving. He's still a goddamn tyrant when it comes to his music I'll give you that, but he's really not the way he used to be." He stopped abruptly and heaved an exasperated sigh, sounding as though he had a lot more to say on the matter but had quickly thought better of it. "Just come to the house. Come and see for yourself, okay?"

"Same house?"

"Same one. You remember the way?"

"Couldn't forget if I tried." And oh, how she'd tried, for a brief, self-destructive period of time.

"Can you come tomorrow?"

She blinked, muscles stiffening in place. "Tomorrow? Just how soon is this tour?"

"Two weeks. Just ten shows this leg, and hopefully we'll have a permanent replacement before the second leg to take over then."

She had barely heard anything past his first sentence, her eyes wide. "Two weeks? Two fucking _weeks_, Seth?"

"Just come, Bella. You know most of this shit, and the new stuff you'll pick up quick. I know you."

"Seth, I'm right in the middle of a recording that'll probably last at least another week."

"Sounds perfect then! See you tomorrow, Bella!"

"Seth!" Nothing. "_Seth!_"

The little punk had hung up on her.

Cursing under her breath like a woman possessed, the brunette flashed her middle finger in the direction of the Hollywood hills and hastily turned over her engine.

That _Bone Machine_ LP was _toast_.

* * *

><p><strong>So, hi! I haven't updated anything in quite a long time. I know this. Doesn't mean I ever intend to stop, though I realize I tend to start more than one project at a time. It's kinda how I work out some personal demons. I always go back and finish what I start, however. Even if it takes a while. I've got WGWT's next chapter about half-written, for the record! <strong>

**This is a project that I'm actually hoping to put on some sort of posting schedule, but my time for writing is always limited, regretfully. I do, however, have a couple more chapters written of this, so I can promise to post those in timely fashion, and get the rest written in the gaps. **

**Also, I'd like to thank TwilightMomofTwo and SapphireNight for their contributions to this chapter when I first brought this story up a very long time ago. From here on out, though, I think I will be going at this without a beta... primarily because I know my posting habits are a little on the erratic side and I just don't want to put them through it. I feel less guilty that way.**

**So happy reading. I humbly request reviews if you feel so inclined, and I'll see you next week with the next chapter. **


	2. Dark Corners

2. Dark Corners

From the outside, the house appeared the same. Large, but not gaudy like some of its neighbors, neat and efficiently landscaped, and the pristine white paint looking perpetually fresh. The entry from the street was somewhat more modest than most of the others on the block; no large gates with bronze crests or initials. In fact, there was no gate at all, unnecessary as they would have been since the entire neighborhood was a large gated community. The paved driveway didn't extend any ridiculous length before reaching the entrance of the garage, but was drawn out maybe a good twenty yards, with a single branch that curved in front of the house's main entrance. The house was very modern in style, dark wood trim around large, unobstructed windows that were abundant around the entire structure. It was undoubtedly as tasteful as its larger companions that dotted Pinnacle Drive.

Bella had loved this house. At almost four thousand square feet, it was roughly twice as big as any place she'd ever lived in throughout her lifetime. It was the light she'd loved, richly filling every room so there were virtually no dark corners anywhere. Perhaps it was the contrast it offered to the time of her life when he'd bought the house-it was the antithesis to the dark corners that smothered every aspect of that period in her own history. She knew he'd bought it because she had loved it, and she tried hard not to speculate on why he'd chosen to stay there so long after they'd parted ways.

Pulling onto the driveway, Bella began to shake, a tingle shooting up her spine. Everything about this was familiar, the view of the house through this very windshield as she turned the wheel gently to the right in order to pull up to the front, rather than straight and into the four-car garage. She had always parked here, pulling up enough not to block the front door, but almost to the other side of the arch, blocking the exit back onto the street. She'd done this same thing, in this same truck, more times than she could count.

For several moments she sat, not bothering to turn off the engine, deliberating about whether or not she could enter that house again without great consequence. It had been six years, but she was certain she could still walk through it with her eyes closed and know every inch of it. They'd spent the last good months here, if that was really saying anything, before it had all come apart.

A knock on the driver's side window jolted her from her thoughts and she whipped her head to the left to see Seth smirking at her. Shaking her head with a small chuckle, she shut off the engine and slowly opened the door as Seth backed away.

"Thought for a minute that you were gonna drive away," he greeted her, reaching out as she slid down from her seat and gathering her into a tight hug.

"Can't deny I thought about it," she replied, squeezing back as tightly. "It's so good to see you, Seth."

"You, too, honey," he said warmly, gently pushing her back and getting a good look at her. "You look great."

"It's only been a few months, Seth," she retorted, snatching her messenger bag from the bench seat and giving the heavy door a hard slam. "I can't look that different."

"Try almost a year and a half." He lifted a dark eyebrow as if daring her to disagree. "And you do look different. Your hair got a little shorter, and you've got some more tone." He squeezed her right bicep in indication and she swatted him away.

"The better to punch you out with," she sang with false cheer.

He just smiled and slid an arm around her shoulders as he led them toward the front door. "And before you ask, yeah, he knows you're here."

She'd been teetering on the edge of asking that very question. Her head tilted to look up at him and swallowed. Then she paused, bringing him to a halt beside her. Her heart was racing with such close proximity. He was just inside, a few paces away, nothing more than some plaster and glass and insulation between them. "Wait. I'm not sure I can do this."

Seth was already shaking his head. "No. Stop psyching yourself out. You'll be fine. You'll both be fine. For fuck's sake—" He sighed as if preparing to say something she wouldn't like.

Bella's body tensed, and she waited for it with straining patience.

"Look, it's all... fine," he continued, obviously struggling to find a better adjective. "But I just want you to be prepared."

"Seth," she interrupted, "if there's another woman now... it's— it's okay. I mean, yeah, I can't deny there's still a sore spot, but it's been such a long time, and it would be ridiculous of me to assume that-"

"Bella," Seth cut her off, firmly. "Shut up, will you? That's not what I was going to say. He's not with anyone. I was just going to tell you that he had a bit of a... weird reaction when you drove up."

She closed her mouth and her brow furrowed, waiting for some elaboration.

"He was talking one second, discussing some sound levels with Aro, the next..." he trailed off to gesture with his free hand that he had no idea what had happened. "We both heard your truck in the drive, and he just froze. Like, full-on robotic shut down, like someone just switched a goddamn off button. He was still for a good twenty seconds before he finally just walked outta the room. Then Aro got pissy and stormed out to the back yard to have a smoke. That's when I came out here to see why your truck was still running."

That Arturo Russo, or Aro as his musical colleagues and peers knew him, had managed to stay so long, surprised the hell out of Bella. He'd come on board as a sound engineer not long before she'd left, but he'd always complained from day one about the difficulty of working with Mase. Of course, it was no secret that there were few better opportunities out there for someone as talented as Aro. Mase's music was challenging, at the very least, and the creative license was a drug to the few people who could stick through all the bullshit that came with co-producing it.

Thinking about Aro's tenure with Mase was merely a distraction from the subject at hand, however. Mase's reaction _was_ weird, but Bella couldn't really say it was shocking by any means. She wasn't foolish or naive enough to think that he'd never been effected by the dissolution of their relationship, even if she hadn't learned this until the following few years. It would really only be natural that he'd have some kind of emotional response to her appearance back in his life, similar the one that she was having now. Apprehension—though this was more like muted terror, and pain at feeling the threads of a wound that hadn't completely healed starting to pull and fray.

Drawing in a breath, she had to remember that she was an adult. Not the child she'd been, at least emotionally, back when he'd been a major part of her life. According to Seth, he'd grown up, too, and she had no reason to doubt her friend's words. They could make it through this with professionalism, even if it was bound to be a little strained at times.

"You ready?" Seth asked as he reached out to grasp the doorknob, and Bella started as she realized they'd somehow made it all the way to the door without her fully noticing. "Don't think too hard, Bells. It's gonna be fine. If it doesn't work out, then it doesn't. But... god damn, _please_ let it work out. We'll never find a drummer in time."

She shot Seth a scowl, only to laugh softly upon finding an adorable and utterly manipulative grin on his handsome olive-toned face as he opened the door. Seth looked different, too, she noticed then, the lines of his face sharper as he'd gotten older, his black hair shorter than he'd worn it back in his more hard-rock days, though it still had a bit of a shag that went as low as his collar. He'd worn the years well.

Willing herself not to shake, and managing fairly well, she finally let her eyes stray ahead, taking in the sight of a house she thought she'd never see again. The huge split-level living room was almost exactly as she remembered, though the walls had gained several more adornments of obscure paintings and framed magazine covers than had been there before, all tastefully placed with carefully measured spacing. There was so much light, and she had to take several more deep breaths to keep a sudden surge of emotion from breaching the surface.

"Come on. Everyone else is in the studio."

As Seth urged her on toward the door on the far side of the room, she pursed her lips and grabbed Seth's hand. He immediately gave her small hand a squeeze; a show of support that demonstrated he knew this couldn't be easy for her.

They walked through the second living area, this one far more casual with a sprawling leather sofa of rich brown running the length of the far wall, thick coordinating rugs splashed across the polished wood floors, and a huge TV mounted on the opposite wall. This had all been upgraded, she noticed. If the furniture was any indication, Mase had at least learned to appreciate this wealth a little more, taking pleasure in simpler luxuries. The place was even more inviting than it used to be, she noted, and felt some sense in comfort at the thought. These were indicators that maybe Mase really was taking better care of himself, and the idea brought more relief than she'd ever thought she could feel.

But seeing him for the first time in this point in his life was the only thing she could fully trust to make that assessment. If he seemed well, she'd be happier than she could say, despite her discomfort with memories of the past that this collaboration would undoubtedly dig up.

They reached the door of the studio, and Bella dropped Seth's hand to give herself a moment. This was it, the line that separated their worlds, and her last chance to run back out and keep her life on the same track, clean and off the radar. It was quiet there, but there was a part of her that hated the quiet and had lain dormant for the past few years, that part that was now screaming at her that walking through that door would lead her back to doing what she loved most, what she'd gotten in the business to do from the start. The fact was, though, she'd grown up the most in her quiet life. Being in the spotlight had never been so good to her own personal development as the time since she'd left it.

There was no reason that she couldn't just do this favor and then get back to life as she knew it. She wasn't naive enough to believe that seeing Mase again would have no effect, but she was stronger now. If she'd been strong enough to leave then, she should have less difficulty now. Besides, on a professional level, it wasn't the first time she'd done a short stint of touring for a few people during her career as a session drummer. It was nothing she couldn't handle, and she wasn't too rusty to do a leg of ten shows with relative ease, and then move on like it was any other job.

As she thought of it, she realized that she'd essentially already made her decision. She glanced down at herself, clad in dark skinny jeans and a worn, slim-fitting Buzzcocks t-shirt, her wavy dark hair loose and falling just to her mid-back, and decided she was acceptably dressed for the occasion. Just a casual meeting to discuss tour details. No one to impress. Bringing her eyes up to Seth, who was patiently looking back at her, she gave him a smile and nodded her head once. He smiled back with warmth that could melt glaciers and winked as he slowly turned the knob, opening the door into the darkest corner of the house.

"Not sure if he's back in here yet, but... oh, sure is," Seth muttered to her before announcing his presence loudly over the white noise and few voices in the cramped control room. "Hey, guys. Look what I picked up on the side of the road. It's a bona-fide drummer."

The quiet chatter stopped and she felt each pair of eyes slowly make their way to her small form as she stepped in the doorway. Her gaze, however, was fixed on only one person, the last person to look her way from where he sat in front of a white laptop.

When those jade green eyes met hers, she was hit with a wave of a thousand different emotions. He looked healthy, truly healthy, and she wanted to fall to her knees and soak in the relief and gratitude that overwhelmed her. His skin was still fairly pale but had just enough color to indicate that it was likely nothing more than the result of spending a great deal of time in the studio, rather than anything life-threatening. Wiry, dense muscles lined his slender form, where once there was almost nothing but skin and bone. His copper colored hair was shorter than it used to be, even shorter than Seth's now, but well-maintained in a stylishly messy way.

Granted, she'd seen pictures of him, unavoidable as they were given his fame and success, but seeing it for herself, the way he lived, his stature and demeanor inside of his own element... only this was able to convince her. Pictures could lie. Those eyes, as they looked back at only her, could not.

A gentle smirk pulled at one corner of his lips, and she blinked a few times before smirking back, and willing her voice to work.

"Mase."

"Iz."

She swallowed at the name and her smile tentatively broadened. Of course he would use his nickname for her. Anything else might have seemed too cold. "You look... _great_."

The meaning of her words registered instantly, she could tell simply by the way his Adam's apple lifted for a moment, and he slowly nodded, the smirk still on his lips. "Thanks. You look lovely, as well."

God, this was so painful. There was no doubt in Bella's mind that he had really improved, given the glaring evidence. Along with his personal changes, though, _everything_ had become different along the way. They didn't really know each other anymore, their lives only tenuously linked through a mutual friend or two. She was here in the most professional capacity, and she'd be a fool to believe that every issue either of them ever had had been completely resolved in the time since they'd last seen each other. Six years was a long time, but for the kind of damage that had been done to themselves and to each other, six years was merely the beginning of a much longer journey.

He tore his eyes away first and turned back to his MacBook, clearing his throat. "Meet the rest of the group you'll be playing with."

She let her gaze fall to the others in the room, and noticed that they had all apparently been paying rapt attention to the exchange, with the possible exception of James Finch. No surprise. He and Bella had collaborated, both with _Tantum _and then later on James' solo project, but they'd never been friends. James was a hard, cold rock musician to the core. He loved the life, and he lived it up to every cliché. He was definitely one of the greater guitarists she'd known, if only by technical skills. Other than that, he compensated for his lack of originality and tepid success as a solo musician by being a dick to everyone. His return to the _Tantum_ touring band was fairly recent, as Mase and James tended to butt heads when it came to the creative process, and he'd taken a hiatus of his own around the time of Bella's departure.

"James," she greeted him with a twisted smile. They worked together well enough that they could be cordial, at least.

"Bella," he said with disinterest as he lazily twisted the machine heads on his gold Les Paul. He leaned back in his chair, slow like the cool and arrogant rock star he strived to be, until the back was pressed against the large and elaborate mixing board. "Just like old fuckin' times."

Well, somewhat cordial.

Knowing better than to pay it any mind, she turned toward an unfamiliar face, a rugged and undeniably attractive blond man, who was smiling brilliantly up at her from his spot on the floor, a black Fender Jazz Bass across his lap. "I'm Jasper. It's a pleasure to be able to work with you, Ms. Swan."

The words were said so genuinely that Bella felt compelled to smile back as brightly. "Bella, please. Jasper... Whitlock?" He nodded, seemingly pleased that she recognized his name. She continued, "I've heard some of your stuff. Really impressive work."

That glowing grin seemed to grow impossibly larger as he gave a nod. "Thank you. I'm quite a fan of yours, too. Wish you played live more. I'd love to come see you."

"Well, you'll be sick of it in a few weeks," she promised with a nervous chuckle. Internally, she doubted she could survive the sudden tension that was suffocating her in this room for longer than a few minutes, let alone being in proximity with this entirely awkward situation for the next few weeks.

"Mase sure knows how to pick musicians when lining up a tour," Seth piped in, placing a hand to Bella's lower back, to push her past the doorway and into the room, finally.

Once she stepped over, she let out a long breath and took a better look around the room. The walls were covered in instruments, sound equipment, and various other electronics, a huge adjoining room separated by soundproof walls and glass directly to the right. That was where the recording took place, several booths inside sectioned off with glass to ensure precise and clear recording with each instrument on one side, and a much larger and open practice room on the other. Dark as this room was with its lack of windows to the outside, she'd always loved playing in there. Mase's ear for acoustics was up there with the best of them, and his personal studio could contend with every professional studio out there. Few were privy to its magic, though, as he produced, wrote, and played just about everything himself when it came down to it, with a few exceptions.

That was how Bella had become part of the project to begin with. Mase didn't play drums much, feeling his drumming skills were too imprecise, and hired drummers when he thought he needed them. Of course, his computers carried most of the weight when it came to percussion, as he was a master engineer. With the use of music programs available, the demand for studio musicians had steadily declined as loops and professional music programs could convincingly fake a live drummer. But it was that raw sound of a real, live drummer that he just couldn't reproduce to his liking, missing the visceral quality that came with the loud strike of a stick against the skin of a carefully crafted snare drum. And live shows, of course... what could be more anticlimactic than a guy singing along to music coming from his rock-n-roll laptop?

At least, this was how Mase had explained it to her when she'd asked why he bothered paying musicians for studio recording when he was clearly brilliant enough to play virtually every instrument handed to him, and could manipulate a computer into producing the most breathtaking music. He'd told her that he loved what she did for his songs, especially when she was playing at her most passionate. It created a quality that he couldn't possibly fake, and made the music that much more raw and accessible. It was impactful, he'd said.

She wondered if it still held true to only her, or if he'd found the same of any drummer, but instantly chastised herself for such childish thoughts.

"Bella, is that you?"

She spun around at the new voice that had come in from behind her and she nodded when she recognized the face, at least a decade older than everyone else in the room. She hadn't seen him for six years, and they'd hardly interacted save for hard studio hours, but they'd always had mutual respect for each others' talents. "Aro, how are you?"

"Disgruntled, frustrated, take your pick," he replied, his expression tired, but she knew it was good natured. That was Aro's perpetual state around Mase, as far as she knew. "He's a goddamn monster, that one." He pointed to Mase with an unlit cigarette. "Shoulda stayed away, saved yourself a goddamn headache."

Mase turned his head to glare at Aro and his mouth opened to speak, but was cut short when Seth interjected.

"Well, we've only got two weeks, so how about we get Bells here all brushed up on the material?"

Bella quickly expressed her agreement as Mase turned in his chair to face her once more, "Let's do that. I'm missing out on three albums' worth of material, not to mention that it's been a while since I've played the older stuff. We don't have much time to dick around." The remark was punctuated with a pleading look toward Aro to just keep his mouth shut for the time being.

Mase nodded, ducking his head with a strange expression on his clean-shaven face, and stood, heading for the practice room door and holding it open for all to file into the large room. Jasper peeled himself off the floor, bass in hand, and entered first, followed by James.

Bella's eyes didn't stray from Mase's face, and once he looked over at her, his gaze was equally unwavering. His expression turned thoughtful, though nearly unreadable, and she found herself suddenly wanting to know quite desperately what he was thinking then. The old Mase might not have let a comment like Aro's go so easy, though it was clearly not meant to be any serious insult. When a sensitive subject was struck, though, Mase was headstrong and didn't hesitate to let anyone in the crossfire know just how pissed off he was. This controlled version of him was entirely unfamiliar, and she couldn't deny the curiosity that flared as she took more and more of him in. Just what had he been through these past six years in her absence?

A hand at her lower back snapped her back to attention and she glanced up to see Seth gesturing with his other hand toward the door Mase held open. "After you."

Bella stepped carefully forward, making an effort not to engage in any further staring contests with Mase within her first hour of being near him again. Distraction was easy, as it turned out, as a substantial _meow_ drew her attention to one side of the room, and her jaw fell open.

She didn't know which surprised her more—the fact that a large, slender, black smoke Devon Rex cat that she hadn't seen in six years was staring intently at her, seemingly in good health, or that the cat was perched upon the throne of a drum kit she had once known very well and had thought was irreparably destroyed.

The cat was obviously not going to stand for any less than Bella's full attention, however, and she gracefully leapt down from the throne and promptly made her way over to curl herself lovingly around Bella's legs.

"Sushi," she exhaled in shock as she bent down to scoop up the sleek cat. The animal purred loudly, craning her long neck to bump her forehead against Bella's cheek. "Oh, baby, I missed you, too."

Sushi's oversized, pointed ears tickled Bella's jaw as the cat nuzzled her affectionately. Quickly, Bella's eyes darted to Mase, his lips curved in a barely detectable smile, his eyes on the cat she held.

"I thought that cat hated everyone," James muttered as he slid his guitar cord into an amp.

"Not Bella," Seth chimed in, smirking at the display as he idly tapped out a few notes on his keyboard.

Suddenly glaringly aware of how personal this situation seemed—cuddling with a cat that now belonged solely to Mase like it was still hers, too—Bella dropped her gaze and gently placed Sushi back on the floor of the studio. The cat loudly protested and pressed herself against Bella's legs again.

"She looks the same." Bella murmured. She saw Mase nodding out of the corner of her eye.

"Yeah, she hasn't changed any that I've noticed," he responded quietly, stepping in the room. He walked past her and up to the microphone that faced the large circle of musicians that had gathered in the open practice room, and adjusted the height of the stand. "Has all the same habits."

She couldn't help but wonder of that meant Sushi still slept on what used to be her side of Mase's bed, on the pillow just above where her head would be. The cat had liked to wake her up every morning. She could never wake Mase up, dead to the world until the effects of whatever he'd used the night before had mostly run their course.

Deciding that was a rather bad train of thought to follow, she looked up to the drums, the custom DW kit on which she had played the hardest she ever had in her life. No other kit had ever compared, and after its destruction on a night she didn't want to remember, she couldn't bear the idea of getting another like it. The fact was, nothing had ever played for her quite the way those did, and it was a memory that she wanted confined exactly there—in memory only. The chance to play on it again, though...

"How?" was all she said, while the others did some last minute fine tuning to their respective instruments.

She noticed a look pass between Seth and Mase, and her eyebrows knitted.

"It's a nice set, Bells. Too nice to put down." That was all Seth said, and she had the distinct feeling this wasn't a subject she would be wise to push just then.

Sliding the messenger bag from her shoulder, she slid out her preferred sticks before dropping it onto the floor and took a deep breath as she stepped behind the kit. Slowly, she slinked down onto the throne and placed her booted feet onto the pedals, nearly gasping at how naturally it all fit. _Like a glove. _

And just like that, she'd never wanted to play more in her life, and could already feel the rush starting. "What are we starting with, gentlemen?"

She caught a grin sliding over Mase's face, directly across from her in their asymmetrical circle, and she knew exactly what he was going to say before he said it.

"_Heathen_."

She'd expected no less. It was the most technically challenging song in his repertoire, at least of the material she already knew, with a complex and break-neck time signature.

With a smirk, she twirled the stick in her right hand then rapidly tapped it against the other at the tempo of the song, the only signal the others would get before she launched into the hard, fast beat of the song.

They fell into it like nothing had changed. There was a mostly new lineup of players involved since the last time she'd played a _Tantum_ song, but it provided only improvement, rather than imbalance or disruption. These were practiced, polished career musicians, and damn passionate in their approach, even down to the way James began to thrash around the room as his hands rapidly tore at the quick, shredding chords on his guitar. Mase's vocals were strong, hands gripping the microphone as the lyrics ripped from his throat, the assault of words equally vicious and melodic, and unassailably heartfelt.

Bella's sticks never missed a beat. Her hands and feet moved in perfect synch with every change in the bassline, every fill as impeccable as though she'd played this through a hundred times just the day before.

By the time the song was over, she was soaring on a high she hadn't felt in six years, and when she looked up to see Mase's face, his expression matched everything she felt.

"It's... good to have you back, Iz," he panted, his eyes locked on hers before he finally broke the gaze and turned hastily away.

* * *

><p><strong>Clearly, I was full of shit when I said I'd update next week. Truth is, I decided I wanted to post something that would hopefully make the story a little more engaging to get the momentum going right off the bat. The third chapter is about done, but that one I probably <em>will<em> be waiting on until next week before posting. **

**Thanks to those that already put this on an alert list. I am honored. And thanks for those reviews. I genuinely appreciate the feedback.**

**So, tell me... what piece of music really gets your blood pumping?**


	3. Subtext

3. Subtext

Back? _Was_ she back? He'd said 'back', but was that what this was? _Back_-back?

Bella had watched, frozen, as Mase quickly nodded his approval to everyone, an understated assessment of their undeniable chemistry, and hustled out of the room back to his computer on the other side of the glass. He seemed suddenly careful not to make eye contact again.

Had he meant to say 'back'? No doubt it could have been a slip-up. No one had ever even really confirmed if she was truly fit to be the temporary replacement for the tour, let alone for an indefinite length of time. No, _back_ was not what she'd signed up for. So why was she not more bothered by the suggestion?

And why, then, was she walking out of the room in his wake, closing the practice room door behind her, and then trying to think up something, _anything_, to say? The best she could come up with was the most immediate concern.

"You know, two weeks is really pushing it, at least for a revolving setlist."

Mase looked up from his MacBook to regard the intrusion for a moment before lowering his eyes back to the screen. "You know a lot of the music, Iz. You just demonstrated that you're better now than you were back then." He nodded his head toward the rest of the band as they packed up from the impromptu session. Only after another few seconds did he look back up at her again, a ghost of a smirk on his lips. "Though I gotta say, I miss those rough edges a little."

Bella stared blankly, and then drew in a slow breath. "Well, if it's not the right sound for your material, then—"

"I'm just screwing with you." That smirk eased into something of a sardonic smile, fused with what she could only interpret as frustration. "You're gonna be fine. A lot of the new stuff has loops incorporated into it, and the rest you can handle." He leaned back in his chair, and turned his head to watch the guys through the glass. She got the impression he wasn't really seeing them, though. "I mean, if anyone can get it, it's you."

If she was honest, she _was_ already fairly familiar with most of the music. Sense had never intervened when it came to painful reminders of this nature; she'd listened to the new songs every time they came on the radio, though she usually couldn't sit through the older ones. She'd paid for the albums that came out after her departure in her more desperate moments, searching for some indication that he was getting better, hoping beyond rationality that his music and voice would somehow reveal a sign. He had sounded like he was becoming healthier in the recent stuff, but confirmation bias was an unreliable jerk. He'd only sounded _different_.

Sometimes, she'd listened for more self-indulgent reasons, as ashamed as she was to admit that. It wasn't like she actively sought it out, but she couldn't ignore it when someone, usually Seth, would point out to her that she'd been the influence behind some of the more pained, and occasionally _angry_, song lyrics. On those occasions it was more like self-flagellation, but her need to know won the battle every time.

She wouldn't volunteer this bit of information, however. She still had a colossal challenge in front of her, as she'd never attempted playing any of the new stuff, even if she'd admired its increasing complexity over the years. Session musicians were required to learn fast, but they were talking about a fifty-song repertoire to nail down in two weeks' time. Mase had always liked to change up the setlist from show to show, so they each had to be well-versed in myriad of music. Granted, all of them were good enough musicians to get by with just knowing the basics of virtually any song, but Mase demanded that each of them be solid and consistent. Not to mention that there was a degree of choreography involved, what with the presentation of light shows, graphics, props... it was always a huge production. Mase loved every one of his fans, and it showed. He could practically issue each ticket sale with a guarantee that they'd get their money's worth.

With a sigh she hadn't really meant to release outwardly, she leaned a hip against his dark wooden desk, determined to remain focused on the first priority—the music—before she completely psyched herself out.

"It's really… it's really good stuff, Mase," she admitted quietly.

His eyes met hers instantly, but there was no real surprise in his expression. He probably knew that she'd listened to the music before. She couldn't resist entertaining the fleeting idea that perhaps he'd listened to the projects she'd been attached to, as well.

He nodded once in response, clearly uncomfortable about thanking her. She knew his secrets, the words he'd written about and for her before and after their break up, words cleverly obscured only to a public that didn't know him like she did, and there now seemed to be palpable guilt at her compliment. It wasn't like he could deny that some of those songs were heavily barbed.

His head tilted thoughtfully and, for a moment, he looked like he wanted to say something about it, or was perhaps waiting for her to broach the subject. The studio door burst open just then and the guys filed into the room, dissolving any opportunity. She couldn't help but notice her own relief, and that written on Mase's face, as well.

"Nice work in there, Bells," Seth said just as he stepped inside the door. "You're faster than you used to be."

Bella turned to acknowledge him and noticed his eyes darting between her and Mase a few times. She also caught the tiny smile that quirked the corner of his lips for no more than half a second before he righted his expression.

"Thanks, Seth," she replied levelly, lifting an eyebrow.

A full grin appeared over his face then and he gestured with an elbow toward the door. "Me and Jasper were thinking of grabbing a bite down on Sunset. Wanna come with?" He glanced between the two of them again.

Bella caught Mase glowering toward Seth for a moment from the corner of her eye. "Um…"

"Come on, it'll be fun. Jasper's girl is gonna meet us. You'll like her."

The earnest look on his face was far too convincing. She just wasn't sure if it was out of genuine desire to hang out with her, or if he was desperate to get her out of Mase's house. Or desperate to keep them together, if the invitation was intended to include him. Either way, she found herself agreeing.

She offered a nod before turning. "Mase, you coming?"

He seemed to freeze for a moment, before he finally cleared his throat, eyes back on the screen in front of him. "Nah, I'm just gonna cook something here later."

He was going to _cook_? The smirk was involuntary. "Are you sure that's wise?"

His jade green eyes shot back up to her, and she suddenly wished she could take it back. They didn't have the kind of relationship where such intimate jokes would fly anymore, but it had slid out easier than it should have. Or worse, he could take it as though she thought he couldn't be trusted to his own devices, lest he suddenly decide to slip back into addiction while the house was empty.

Mase apparently wasn't offended. A crooked smile appeared on his lips and he shook his head, dropping his eyes back to the laptop. "I haven't come close to burning the house down since that eggplant parmesan, Iz."

"Huh," was about all she could muster. Part of her was shocked that he could address that time so… _casually_, like it hadn't been a traumatic relationship for the both of them. She was sure that just seconds ago he was on the edge of acknowledging the weight of it, the proverbial elephant in the room that had been the last decade of their lives.

Another part of her was awed. If it was a case of denial, he'd become seriously good at masking it, something she'd never known him to do well. Most of his best music came from his expressiveness, pure and unfiltered emotion, without regard to precisely _which_ emotion. Whether it was anger, despair, lust—Mase knew no censor. If there was one thing he didn't do well, it was hide his feelings.

No, she didn't believe it was denial. He really was just… better.

Once again, she found her throat tight, and she lowered her head, allowing her hair to obscure her face. With a deep breath, she turned toward Seth and smiled, pulling her bag up from the floor and sweeping it over her shoulder. "We going?"

"Yeah, just follow me. The place is only about ten minutes from here."

Nodding, she sent Mase one last glance and a small smile, which he returned in kind, and followed Seth out.

* * *

><p>"So, I must say, it's a huge pleasure to meet you."<p>

Bella blinked her eyes into focus. Christ, she'd been daydreaming for the fourth time since they'd arrived at Mel's Diner.

Smiling at the small, black haired girl that had addressed her from across the table, Bella cleared her throat before speaking. "Thanks, it's nice to meet you, too."

The girl, Alice, as Jasper had introduced her, just snickered. She shot a glance at Jasper who sat quietly, and Bella had noticed that his eyes always gravitated back to Alice when Seth wasn't distracting him with idle conversation. Or what she assumed was idle. Not like she could hear much on that side of the table with all the noise in the busy Hollywood diner.

"Well, I just mean that Jasper was talking incessantly about it last night after Seth told him you were coming to meet with the guys. He played me some of your stuff. I had no idea that you'd played with Alistair Evans! I've been listening to him for years!

Bella grinned a little sheepishly, finger doodling absently in the little puddle of condensation around the bottom of her water glass. "Ah, well, I'm just a studio drummer. He didn't have a backup band at that point, so we were all just kind of a grab bag of studio musicians for the project."

Alice was already shaking her head, lifting the straw of her cherry Coke toward her lips. "No, no. You're amazing." She took a quick sip and was already talking again before Bella could even think to reply. "I mean, I knew that you'd played with _Tantum_ before, and I was impressed then, but Jazz starts telling me all about these people you've worked with and albums you'd recorded with them, and I come to find out that you played on so many songs that I love, and I'm just blown away that I'd never noticed it before."

Shrugging, Bella took a sip of her water before answering. "That's the nature of the business, I guess. I like to stay out of the spotlight."

"Ah, don't listen to her," Seth piped in, sliding into the seat beside Bella. She hadn't even noticed him get up from the other end of the table. "She's made for the spotlight. Back when the _Wraith_ album came out, when Mase first started touring, I swear we sold more tickets for guys just comin' to see a hot drummer chick than they did for Mase. And she loved that shit."

The brunette rolled her eyes. "Oh, is that what happened? Can't say I remember that."

"Well, I was there. You can trust me to remember." Seth smiled smugly.

"Of course." She nudged him in the ribs with an elbow.

He just winked at her.

"How did you come to meet Mase, anyway?" Alice asked, blue eyes bright with innocuous curiosity.

Bella's finger stilled in the tiny puddle.

Seth and Jasper tensed infinitesimally, but enough for Bella to notice. Clearly, Jasper was informed of enough detail to know the subject of that era was a messy one.

"Um..." she hesitantly began. Rationally, there were no big secrets in how they met, but there were so many circumstances surrounding that entire period that she wasn't sure she could tell the story without blurring some lines and treading rough territory. On the other hand, she'd subjected herself to this by agreeing to tour with the band again. There was no way to avoid digging into old wounds.

Besides, she could keep these answers simple, couldn't she? "Well, he heard me play with a little three piece band some friends and I had started, and he asked if I'd be willing to record a few tracks on an album he was producing himself. I agreed, since the band I was in couldn't afford to make a decent demo, so I figured having some good recordings of my work would help get my foot in the door, and I just... ended up sticking around for a while."

There. Easy enough. Her finger resumed tracing patterns in the pool of water, and she realized she'd been staring at the table the whole time she'd been talking. Glancing up, she saw Alice watching her with rapt attention.

"Wow, that's really cool. Looks like that worked out for you. I mean... as far as launching your career and all..."

Bella recognized the awkward way her sentence trailed off and smirked. "Yeah, it helped. So, how did you and Jasper meet?"

It was clearly a ploy to change the subject, but she hoped Alice would give her reprieve before things got much more personal. Fortunately, Alice seemed fairly perceptive of Bella's discomfort and she graciously accepted the bait.

Alice went on to tell a story about how they'd gone to the same college—she as an art major and Jasper as a history major—and had practically been inseparable ever since they met at a campus gig where Jasper was playing with a weekend jazz band. Bella thought it was sweet how plain it was to see the way they cared for each other. She couldn't deny that, deep down, it brought a dull sting to her the surface, however. She'd known that kind of affection and intimacy before, the kind that went deeper than the music and the lifestyle. It was easy to appreciate it about Alice and Jasper, though. It had been a long time since she'd met such genuine people, considering the kinds of individuals that Bella typically encountered in the business.

Perhaps it was yet another demonstration of how much Mase really had grown up. He'd surrounded himself with better people, clean and seemingly stable, and focused on their art. Well, perhaps with the single exception of James. Even he had improved, though, she couldn't help but notice when they'd been at the house. Bella could remember him at their shows, some nothing more than hazy memories of leather, fishnets, spiked mohawks and eyeliner, and smells of stale cigarettes and cheap rotgut booze. James still had long hair, but he'd taken to keeping it in a tidy ponytail, and wore more sensible t-shirts and jeans. Of course, she knew she could still be in for a surprise when tour time came. His was one act she didn't make any effort to follow when she didn't have to work in the studio with him, so she had no idea how he appeared on stage these days.

"Sure you don't want anything to eat?"

Seth's voice interruped her thoughts, and she realized that Alice had stopped speaking at least a full minute before.

With a conciliatory smile, Bella shook her head. "Sorry, I'm a little out of it. I'm probably going to head out. It was really great to meet you, Alice. Jasper."

"You, too, Bella!" Alice chimed.

She saw Seth's eyes narrow knowingly from the corner of her vision as she stood. "Hold up, Bells. I'll walk you out."

Realizing that there was no way to avoid whatever conversation was coming, she paused and waiting for him to follow her.

"So, was I wrong?" he asked once they reached the parking lot.

Bella spared him a momentary glance as they slowly advanced toward her truck. "No," she finally said quietly. Then answered more thoroughly after a silent beat. "He seems better, Seth. It makes me wanna cry to see how much better he seems. But... he's a different person. I don't think I know him enough to make an educated judgment. He may not be a junkie anymore, but I still don't know this version of him."

"He's not that different," was Seth's equally quiet reply.

"Do you _remember_ the last time he and I were in the same room together?" she asked incredulously, fishing in her jeans pocket for her keys. "Because I distinctly remember that same set of drums—" she tore her hand from her pocket keys with it, and gestured vaguely in the direction of the hills, "—being completely destroyed before my very eyes. Shit, I didn't even think those things were reparable as bad as he'd fucked them up."

"I'm saying that he's not that different from how he was before all of that," Seth answered, exasperatedly trying to come up with a better way to explain. "I mean, he is in that he's grown up a lot, but I know you remember him when he was just a man that loved what he did and worked his ass off at it."

The words made her chest tighten. Sometimes it was harder to remember that version of him, when he was still the man she'd fallen in love with, untarnished by fame and women and addiction. The worst of it was the gruesome picture that always followed; sallow skin stretched over bones, black circles around his dilated eyes. Sometimes the expression was cruel and mocking, but most of the time it was just vacant. Unaware. Somewhere she wasn't.

She shivered and closed her eyes tight against the stab that ripped through her. She was grateful to realize they'd reached her truck, and she leaned against the driver's side door for support.

"Bella," Seth began again, gently. "He's that man again. Or he's close to it, at least. He's still got some work to do, but he's doing it."

"And how do I fit in here?" Bella whispered. It was only just setting in how much seeing him after all these years was affecting her. She cleared her throat and pushed her voice past the constriction in her throat. "You said yourself that he acted strange when I showed up today, and he seemed so reserved. Or freaked out. I don't know."

Seth's sigh was long, his following words careful. "Look, there's a lot going on for both of you, and I get that. I really do. But there's so much more to this that I can't possibly explain to you. Only he can. He's gotta do it when he's ready, but for Christ's sake, just give him the opportunity, at least."

Blinking several times, she stared at him for a long moment, pieces starting to click into place. "I wasn't your last resort, was I?"

His face fell into a frown. "You were never a last resort. You're the best. Hell, you even contributed to some of the songs, made those drumlines better. I swear Mase's whole concept of percussion wouldn't be as good today if he wasn't influenced by you."

"You're avoiding, Seth," she stated flatly.

He groaned. Of course he knew what she was asking. "Yes, you were the first one I thought of. The only one. Hell, look at Mase's reaction to the suggestion. He didn't discourage me, even if he pretended not to be all that interested. I think _he_ was even thinkin' about it. Not that he would have ever said anything. Okay? Yeah, we could have found someone else, and yeah, I brought you here because I wanted you to see him. Circumstances just... came together and gave me an opportunity." He shrugged.

Bella considered this for a moment before slowly nodding. "Thanks for telling me."

She turned to open the door and get into the truck, but Seth put a hand on her arm before she could even step up to the floorboard.

"He's scared shitless, Bella. I don't think he'll ever learn to get over than unless you open the door for him. I don't know if he'd ever have gotten the balls to contact you himself. He knows how bad he fucked up. I don't think he believes you could ever forgive him."

God, why did that idea hurt her almost as much as the memories? What did her own feelings mean? Was forgiveness something she even placed any value in when it came to their history? Sure, she'd harbored some anger toward him for his actions but, when it came down to it, she had just wanted him to be safe and happy. Healthy. Their relationship had only served to make him worse in the end, so she'd ended it for both their sakes. Surely, she held some responsibility their deterioration, too.

Hauling herself into the truck, she didn't close the door but just stared out the windshield, unseeing, as Seth waited for her reply.

"What if I make him worse?" She could barely give voice to the question. "What if my being here sabotages all of the progress he's made?"

"I don't know the future, Bella," came Seth's immediate response. "But I know that my friend deserves more credit now. He's earned it. I promise you'll come to see that, too."

With that, he gave her a sad smile and closed her car door, then strode back toward the restaurant without another look back.

* * *

><p><strong>Thanks, everyone, for the flow of storyauther alert and favorite adds. And as always, the reviews are appreciated! Even a small comment goes a long way with me. Another quick update, but it's so hard to resist when I've got them completed. Heh. **

**Next chapter we'll see some of Mase's side of things, finally!**

**There are many songs that get my blood going, but the first that comes to mind is always Wolf Like Me – TV on the Radio. Great for driving to. **

**What instrument would/do you play if you could be/are part of a band? I'd love to hear from ya. **


	4. Forgotten Words

4. Forgotten Words

_There is no way in hell I can survive this._

The urge to thump his head on the desk was a strange one for Edward Masen—Mase as he'd been dubbed by an old high school buddy. _Edward_ was not a name any self-respecting musician, Tyler had said, unless he was looking to open for Yanni. The nickname stuck, and Mase had rarely thought anything of it since.

Iz had left with Seth more than thirty minutes before, and here he was still damn near frozen to his desk chair.

It wasn't like he didn't have some warning before hand. Seth had told him last night that she'd agreed to come, and he'd done nothing to prevent it. He hadn't wanted to.

Now he was faced with the question of whether or not he was ready for it. For her. For the two of them to be in the same room, breathing the same air, sharing words and eye contact. Playing one of his songs.

God _damn_, she was still so beautiful. It made him almost sick that he was placing any emphasis on her appearance—beautiful women were a dime a dozen, but he couldn't deny what was right before his eyes. She was older, twenty-nine now. The subtle traces of baby fat that had crept into her early twenties were gone now, and she was forged of smooth, long lines, every inch of her poised and more self-assured.

Her eyes, though, still dark and smoldering, were duller, no traces of the effervescence that he once knew so well. He hadn't seen her in person since that night, in this same house, and he couldn't remember for the life of him if that spark in her eyes was still there even then. He could very well have killed it months before she'd ever left, and he'd been too far gone to even notice. There was no doubt in his mind that he'd been the one responsible.

But she'd smiled at him today, the lines of her face alight and so warm, and he'd nearly lost his composure. There was no way to know if the smile meant forgiveness—of course it couldn't if he hadn't even asked for it, but he'd take it for whatever it was. Hers was a smile that he'd once believed he'd never again witness.

What hit the hardest was the way she'd told him that he looked great when she first came in, he'd had to work hard to downplay the impact of those words. He knew that anyone who had seen him just a few years before could tell the difference, but she had sounded so wholeheartedly relieved, and the impetus of such words could only represent deep-rooted concern. If it was pity, he didn't know, but he liked to think that he knew her better than that. She had loved him once, after all.

Slowly, Mase rose from his chair and closed the laptop. It had gone into sleep mode after the last half hour without use, anyway, and he was sure that he couldn't get much done until the shock wore off. With quiet steps, he left the office and made his way through the den, into the kitchen on the other side of the house.

He remembered her joke as he browsed through the huge stainless steel refrigerator, and smiled to himself. He wasn't sure what to make of her easy humor. The simple comment had seemed to come so naturally for her, and he couldn't help but to reply in kind. The eggplant parmesan incident was one of the better memories, and it meant a lot to him that she remembered it with at least some degree of fondness. Or amusement.

XXXX

"Iz, I'm warning you, if you come into this kitchen, you're gonna regret it. I have sharp knives. Don't test me."

He could hear her cackling laughter from the den, even over the sound of his knife striking the cutting board. She was still laughing as she replied. "Babe, if you burn the house down, the homeowner's association is gonna kick your ass outta Hollywood."

"Then I'll just burn their houses down, too."

"Mase," she drawled out in a whine. "Please let me help. I don't want food poisoning for the next two days."

"Hey, you shut your mouth, woman," he shot back, a grin shaping his words. "You're gonna eat this and you're gonna like it, and if you get food poisoning... well, fuck it, you're gonna like that, too." With a critical eye, he assessed the dimensions of each slice of eggplant, accepted that they would serve their purpose even if they were a little inconsistent, and began to line the bottom of the pan with them.

By the time he finished layering all the ingredients, as instructed by the recipe book, he realized that Iz hadn't spoken in a while. Glancing at the oven, he saw the pre-heat light was still on and decided he had another few minutes before he'd have to put the pan in.

He washed his hands and shuffled out to the den, his bare feet brushing against the bare wood floor. His eyes found her immediately, like a compass to north. She was curled up on the blue sofa, reading a book, the cover he recognized instantly. He chuckled.

At the sound, she glanced up, smiled at him, then lowered her eyes back to the book. Her plush lips parted, her tiny pink tongue darting out to moisten them before she spoke in a low rasp. "I like this one. What inspired it?"

He moved in closer, taking a seat beside her on the couch, the cushion sinking just a tad too low. It was old, its integrity worn down, and it was speckled with cigarette burns. He couldn't bring himself to get rid of it when they'd moved in here. They'd spent many a night on this couch together. As far as he was concerned, it was practically a third party of their relationship.

Glancing over her shoulder, placing a featherlight kiss on the skin there, his eyes settled on the page she had open.

He breathed out a small laugh. "You did. Back when you were dating that other guy, what's his name."

"Liam." She supplied, a ghost of a smirk on her lips. She knew he wasn't really asking.

"_Liam_," Mase repeated, his voice mocking and nasal. "Your little college boy."

"You went to college," she pointed out, still looking over the messily scrawled text.

"Yeah, but I didn't finish." He grinned behind her back, fully aware of how absurd this particular argument was.

"Well, you're obviously superior, then." A finger brushed over a fragment of one line. "'..._you're everything I can't have_...'. Mase, I went out with him like twice."

He drew in a breath, eyes skimming over the rest of the lyrics he'd written just a few years before. "I didn't deserve you."

She shuddered a silent laugh, no real humor in the sound. "You're ridiculous."

His lips touched the skin at the back of her neck, earning a shiver. "You're amazing."

"And you're not?" She tilted her face around to meet his eyes. "You don't know what you bring to people, do you? Or why you've got so many fans?"

His gaze dropped from hers. "I just write what I know. I don't think my words are bringing any new ideas to anyone. I just articulate what everyone's felt since the dawn of time."

She pushed his chin up with a finger, bringing his eyes back to hers. That bright spark was so vivid. Such a contrast to the deep mahogany color. "Don't you know what a gift that is? You give people comfort and catharsis. You validate the necessity of emotion and reflection with such eloquence, you use it as a tool to..." she gestured with a hand, trying to snatch the right words out of the air, "to just fucking understand _life_ and you deliver it with such passion and emotion that you can bring me to tears..." She paused and was suddenly self-conscious at his expression. "Why are you looking at me like that?"

"I love you," he whispered, reverence coloring the words.

She tangled her fingers in his shaggy bronze hair.

"I love you," she replied fiercely, as though she needed him desperately to believe it.

He moved in to kiss her, but was stopped by a finger against his lips as she turned her head toward the kitchen door.

"Do you smell that?"

Mase sniffed the air. Something was burning. He hadn't even put the food in the oven yet. What the hell could be burning?

"Oh, Jesus. Mase, did you forget to check if something was left in the oven before you turned it on?"

He looked at her, bewildered. Who put things in the oven when they're not meant to be cooked?

The smoke alarm went off a second later, and they both rushed toward the kitchen. Iz ripped open the oven door with a dishcloth covering her hand, and ducked out of the way just as orange flames erupted from it.

"Shit!" Mase shouted, darting for the fire extinguisher under the counter.

The flames were out in seconds.

Iz was cracking up on the floor.

Mase couldn't help but laugh with her, the deep, rich peals of her laughter infectious.

XXXX

Mase quickly shut the refrigerator door.

Swallowing, he avoided looking at the vacant spot on the floor where Iz had once laughed so heartily and left the room.

He found himself in the studio, his feet carrying him to the piano that sat in its own soundproofed section.

Only seconds had passed before he was seated on the bench and music was unfolding from his fingertips, woven with minor chords and black keys, the notes disjointed and wary, unsure of their own destination. His fingers pressed on, this new composition coming to life without much conscious effort.

Soon, a melody was pouring from his lips, words that he realized half way through were those same lyrics he'd written in that book so many years ago and never put to music.

He abruptly stopped.

His breath shuddered, his heart beating in an unsteady staccato rhythm.

He had no idea if he was strong enough for any of this. He didn't think that the drugs would be an issue any longer, he was long past the point of turning to that sort of release when things got rough.

But the pain. It was closer to the surface than he'd thought, brought to light in one surreal day of seeing the woman that had been his fucking _soul_. One single day. What was he facing with a whole tour, packed together on a couple of buses?

He considered the idea of her _not_ going.

That pain was worse.

It was a chance he couldn't squander, even if its only possible outcome was to grant her a little restitution. He'd sacrificed too much already.

With trembling hands, he stood from the piano bench, walked out to his desk, woke up his laptop, turned on the board, and set it to record.

Then he went back to his piano and started over.

* * *

><p>The drive to Santa Monica was long and quiet.<p>

Bella couldn't even bring herself to turn on the radio. Part of her, though she wasn't sure whether or not it was a healthy part, wanted to be alone with her thoughts. To let the onslaught come, because she knew it would happen sooner or later.

It wasn't until she pulled up to the driveway of her small beachfront house that it really began to sink in, however.

Seth's words rang in her ears over and over again. Mase was different.

He looked different. The house looked different. There was solid, tangible evidence of this. But how much of this was just a coat of paint over a crumbling interior?

With sluggish, distracted motions, Bella shut off the engine and got out of the car, hauling her bag with her as she made it to the door.

The house was dark, as expected. With two bedrooms, she had just enough room to live in comfortable space, just her and her equipment. She'd never gotten another cat since leaving Sushi with Mase. That cat had been her gift to him on their second anniversary, but she'd grown almost as attached to it as he had.

The thought of the cat brought her to a slow stop. The same cat, with the same habits, perched on the same drum kit.

As different as things may have been, so much was still the same. Seth was going to offer no further answers to any of this, she'd gathered. He was all but pushing her directly into Mase's path and insisting that she ask him herself.

The mystery of it all was killing her, and she knew she'd eventually give in. There was no way to go about this purely professionally, and she was finally beginning to understand that.

Especially when he kept fragments of their history around him. He had called her by the nickname he'd given her, he restored her old drum set, kept the cat she'd given him. He lived in the same fucking _house _when he could have moved anywhere he damn well pleased.

With a haphazard toss, Bella left her keys on the kitchen counter and let her bag slip from her shoulder and onto the floor, walking to the back of the house with all the speed of zombie—to the wall of glass that displayed the vast Pacific ocean. The moon was bright in the sky, illuminating the whole livingroom in long, silvery slices through the vertical blinds.

The sliding door was closed, but she could hear the waves easily, the symphony of crashing and dragging as the water was tethered to and fro.

XXXX

"Mase," Bella tried for the third time. "Did you hear me?'

Without a word he stood up from his seat on the edge of the bed and walked toward the door.

"I fuckin' heard you," he hissed as he walked out.

She could hear his steps, hard and loud, as he stormed down the stairs.

"Shit," Bella cursed to herself. Why hadn't she noticed when they began this conversation that he was already high? But once she'd realized it, the words were already coming from her mouth, and she couldn't seal that can of worms back up gracefully.

Just seconds later, there was a loud crash from the floor beneath her.

Bella tore out of the room and flew down the stairs, barely managing not to fall. She bolted for the studio door and ripped it open. The sight she was met with stopped her cold.

The entire glass wall of the practice room was shattered, shards of glass glittering over everything, the sound boards and computers, the carpeted floor, the loveseat on the far side of the room, and a snare drum guiltily in the middle of it all.

The entire window was broken out, and there was a furious looking Mase behind it.

"Mase," she gasped, her eyes wide and terrified.

"Fuck you," he growled. "I gave you everything. _Everything_. Do you really believe your career would have gone anywhere if it wasn't for me?" He strode toward the hi-hat stand now, picking it up and then throwing it against the wall with a force that bordered on inhuman.

"Jesus Christ, stop it!" she screamed, taking a step into the practice room. What was she going to do, block his next chosen projectile weapon? Chemicals were coursing through his veins, adrenaline fueling every move, and there was just no way that she wasn't going to get hurt.

But it was that or he'd end up hurting himself.

Her heart racing, she stepped in front of him just as he was picking up the base drum like it was no heavier than a tambourine. When he saw her in his path, he paused, glaring at her. She'd never seen him look at her like this before and it shook her to her bones.

"Get the fuck out of my way," he bit out through gritted teeth.

She took an unsteady breath. "No," she said with more authority than she felt.

His furious absinthe eyes didn't break their hard stare for several seconds. Then his eyes shut tight and he let out a raucous roar, turning his body and heaving the drum against the wall behind him. In the same motion, he was picking up another cymbal stand, then slamming it into every remaining piece of the set that hadn't yet been a casualty.

It took Bella a moment to realize that tears were pouring from her eyes, but she knew it wasn't over the destruction of her favorite kit.

"Mase, please," she pled in a broken voice. "You're going to hurt yourself. Stop it."

"_I'm_ going to hurt myself?" he shot back incredulously. "You're just going to walk out the door and I'm gonna be fine, is that it? No. Fuck you."

He struck clean through the skin of a floor tom.

"Mase... Edward, please. You know why I have to-"

"Shut the fuck up! Don't you fucking call me that! You think you have that right? _Bella_?" His sneer tore right through her chest. It had never bothered him to hear his name before, but the fact was that no one ever did outside of his family.

"Jesus, Mase, look at you," she replied, desperation and anger dancing dangerously close together with every word as she watched him continue ravaging whatever pieces were still intact of the kit. "You're not even the same person anymore. You won't let me help. God damn it, I don't even care about whatever groupies you fucked or what kinda shit you snorted off of them. I just don't want to see you fucking _dead_, and... look at this. How can I help you if you never even talk to me anymore? You just scream or completely faze me out. Sometimes I think I'm just making you worse."

He stopped, dropping the his makeshift weapon. She wasn't sure if he'd run out of things to demolish, or if he was just getting tired. Either way, she was glad for the momentary abeyance.

"I can't stop it, Iz," he rasped weakly, and the sudden pain in his voice shot another jolt of pain through her being. "I don't want you to leave, but god damn it, I can't stop. My music has never been better, I can't stand... I can't... sometimes I don't know who I am without it."

Taking a careful step through the carnage of glass and metal, she reached out to touch his arm.

He saw the motion and jerked away, his hard exterior back on. "If you can't handle what I am, then you don't belong here. Get out."

They weren't words she wanted to hear, but knew it was what she had to do. Nothing she said was going to make any difference, and she'd exhausted every avenue she'd thought of to get through to him over months. There had to be an end. There was no wisdom to impart here, no clever words or phrases that would strike a chord and open his eyes. He'd shut her out long ago.

"Goodbye, Mase," she whispered. Without another word, she turned and walked away.

The last sound she heard was a another loud crash before she closed the door behind her.

XXXX

Blinking her eyes back into focus, she realized the moon had shifted as she'd been locked in her thoughts, and she peeled herself away from the glass.

In the bedroom, she toed off her boots and collapsed onto the bed, not bothering to remove her clothes.

It wasn't like she was going to get much sleep, anyway. Tomorrow she'd see him again, and tomorrow they would talk. She would hear it from his lips that he was truly better, that she could trust the visage of health that he'd built around him.

Tomorrow she'd decide if she could stay.

* * *

><p><strong>Thank you so much, everyone, for your reviews and subscriptions. <strong>

**It's unanimous, apparently—drummers win. **

**Please feel free to review! The feedback is encouraging. And next time we'll see a little more into their history. I do hope the flashbacks were clear, but I didn't want to go over the top with it. Sometimes I guess I like a little confusion in my stories. Heh.**

**What do you think was left in the oven? Drop me a line. I'll love ya forever. **


	5. A Tourniquet

5. A Tourniquet

The whole _tomorrow_ concept didn't work out exactly the way Bella had hoped.

Mike had called her first thing in the morning to come in to Entity Records and get started on another track of Jacob Black's, as they wanted to keep the momentum going while they were ahead of schedule. She'd felt obligated, considering she was debating about going on a tour for the three weeks and hadn't yet told her colleagues.

That was, of course, if she decided she was really going.

She rolled her eyes at herself as she climbed into her truck after their day-long recording session. Who was she kidding? As much as she knew the more conscious part of her was resisting, the fact was that she would have already told Seth and Mase that she wasn't going to do it for the sake of giving them as much time to find a replacement as possible. Deep down she'd already given in.

Her hand stilled midway to the sliding the key in the ignition.

"Oh, balls," she sighed. Grumbling, she made her way back out of the car and into the building to deliver the news to Mike.

* * *

><p>In spite of the admission that she would indeed go through with the tour, it didn't change her need to get some answers from Mase.<p>

That was proving difficult.

When they weren't cramming in as many practice hours as humanly possible, he was dodging her. The few moments he wasn't dodging her, he was addressing her with professionalism that she could only perceive as forced.

Bella found herself becoming increasingly upset by this. It was entirely likely that he wanted to get through this experience the same as she initially had—as a business arrangement, no strings, and an expectation to part ways when it was over. It was also equally likely, she supposed, that he could be doing it because he thought it was what she wanted.

They were going to have to talk, and soon. As it looked, though, they were running out of time before the tour got started, now only three days away.

"Alright, let's run through _Conduit_ again," he was saying, pulling his guitar off of him and placing it on the stand. They'd run through that song more than any other—it was his fast paced opening number, with a hard rhythm and a heavy, escalating guitar riff, a perfect song to incite the crowds.

She'd never played the song before a week ago. It made sense that he'd be concerned over making sure she was comfortable with it, but she was starting to wonder if he was just obsessing over practice to allow less time for any sort of personal interaction. On the other hand, she'd always known him to be a nearly militant perfectionist when it came to his music. This wasn't all that unusual. Maybe she was just projecting situations that weren't really there.

With a deep breath, she counted off, tapping her drumsticks before launching into the first measure, the first of two without any musical accompaniment, until James' gritty, distorted guitar strains crashed in, followed by Jasper's thrashing bass and Seth pounding on his keyboard, and finally Mase's raw vocals.

No doubt this was a great show opener. Even having played it more times than she could count in the last week, Bella was finding herself becoming more and more immersed, her body vibrating with pure adrenaline, and sheen of sweat forming over her skin as she played it.

She couldn't remember the last time she'd gotten this invested in any piece of music, let alone an entire setlist.

_That's not true, and you know it._

No, it wasn't true. Of course she remembered the last time, though she still had trouble acknowledging the reality of it. Only his music did this to her. She and Mase had a musical cathexis that existed independent of any sort of personal relationship. Of course, she couldn't help but wonder from time to time if she was wrong about that—if they really did compliment each other so well musically _because_ of an emotional investment. Either way, it appeared to be the one constant between them. No matter how strained things could be between them at any given point, the music they created together never suffered or wavered.

Songs like these—_Conduit_ for one, she felt those incredible highs the most, and Mase would lock eyes with hers as she practically tore the snare drum into oblivion from playing so hard, he rasping and roaring out his searing melodies. She knew enough to recognize that he was right there with her, too. It was intense and electric, as intimate as any sex she'd ever had. Well, almost. She found she was looking forward to capturing this and letting the audience witness it firsthand, what she considered to be them at their best.

Even if she _was_ finding it hard to learn and play songs that he'd written about her after their split. All of them were emotional and powerful, and _so_ good as a result, but Mase seemed to make a point of never meeting her eyes as he sang those particularly pointed lyrics, and Bella was pretty sure she wouldn't have been able to look at him, either. Every word about how he'd been left alone in his darkest hours, or about every broken promise, sent a flood of guilt pooling into her stomach. She was pretty sure she faltered on a few beats during a couple of those songs, and though she was certain Mase noticed—the borderline obsessive compulsive music-nazi in him never missed anything—he didn't mention it.

_Gah_. They really needed to talk. There was no way they could survive being packed into close quarters for the next few weeks with all this tension. Surely someone would choke to death.

The song wrapped, and before Mase could press them on to starting another, a tall, leggy golden-blond supermodel tapped on the practice room window with a pen. _Phone call_, she mouthed to Mase.

Heidi was nothing that Bella had expected her to be upon one look at her. Bella had been a bit uncomfortable, to say the least, when she met Mase's assistant at their first practice, and was immediately chagrined to identify her discomfort as a jealous twinge. To her surprise, however, the woman was professional and down to earth, nice enough to offer Bella a genuine welcome and then go about her business from eight to five every weekday. When Bella had asked Seth if she'd be coming on tour with them, he'd given her a shit-eating grin that she'd promptly wanted to smack right off of his face.

"No, Bells," he'd told her, "she just takes care of the office, makes sure the pets are taken care of when Mase is out of town, fields phone calls, picks up dry cleaning... polishes a knob every once in a while." His grin grew impossibly larger, clearly trying to get a rise out of her. Bella had whacked his arm a little harder than necessary.

"Be right back," she heard Mase mutter, breaking into her thoughts.

Snapping back to attention, she realized that he was already walking out the door, and she got up to follow him, carefully placing her sticks across the snare drum. One way or another, she was going to catch him and get him to talk to her. She followed quietly a few steps behind, her steps becoming more hesitant as she realized he was on his way up to the bedroom they'd once shared.

* * *

><p>The phone call was over in a few short minutes, its content of little significance, but Mase didn't move to return to the practice room. Instead took a moment to linger at the edge of his bed, savoring the momentary privacy with a few deep breaths.<p>

If he'd thought the first day was hard, he fucking moron. This was testing the lines of every personal boundary he'd established in the last six years.

Mase still had every intention of going through with his resolution, to try and make amends and reparations the best he could, but he found that words consistently failed him. Every time he opened his mouth to talk to her, the words caught in his throat and began reforming themselves into everything he wasn't ready to say. So he'd forced himself into business mode, careful and even downright polite when conversation was necessary.

He was avoiding her, and he was pretty damn sure that she'd caught on, too. He wasn't making a great show of hiding it. The only reprieve was when they played together—barring certain songs—and he was brought back to times past, sense memory wreaking havoc on his psyche.

XXXX

She blinked up at him, then shook herself as though coming out of a daze. "I'm sorry, what?"

"I said you're really fucking good," he repeated, lifting his voice over the noise in the smoky bar. "I want to know if you'd be willing to record a few tracks with me."

Her brow furrowed almost comically, and she swept a hand through her black and purple hair. "Is this some creepy scenario where I show up at some abandoned warehouse and get gang-raped and left for dead?" Her head tilted, as though another idea came to her. "Or is this your way of hitting on me?... Or both?"

He snickered, shaking his head. "I'm serious. I'm working on a sorta self-produced project, but I could use some help with the drums."

Her face relayed skepticism, but he could swear her interest was piqued by the glimmer in her dark, heavily-lined eyes.

"Look, go to The Brig this Friday night. I'll be there doing some acoustic music. You can see for yourself." He hoped the local hipster coffee shop was an innocuous enough setting for her. He didn't care for the place himself, but it was a gig, and he was reduced to whoring his music in college dives until he could get the recording finished.

She gave a shrug. "Alright, I'll go check it out. If your music sucks, though, don't get your hopes up."

He couldn't resist a laugh. "Fair enough."

She was turning to walk away when he realized he hadn't even gotten her name. He reached out and touched her shoulder "Hey, what's your name?"

"Bella," she said curtly, sending a sharp look to his hand on her shoulder.

He abruptly removed it. "Bella... that short for something?" Now he was just trying to draw out the conversation.

She just nodded, an eyebrow quirked. Clearly, she thought the answer was obvious.

"Not gonna tell me?" he asked, and tapped a finger against his chin. "Hmm... Christabella... Anabella... Jezebella? No?"

"Try _Is_abella." she replied, rolling her eyes even as a smile pulled at the corners of her lips.

He smirked at the way she'd drawn out the sound, like Izzzz-abella. "Alright, _Izzzz_abella. I'm Mase. I'll see you Friday."

"Yeah, see ya."

She wove her way through the crowd, and Mase was feeling pretty good about the exchange. He hadn't been expecting to find anyone here that could potentially aid him—Tyler had brought him to see the _next_ band that was going on stage, but Mase had been fixated since he heard that girl start playing _Tom Sawyer_ to test her kit before the show started. The Rush song had just happened to be playing over the bar's speakers, and he quickly got the impression that she would have been able to feel her way through any song that happened to be on right at that moment. He didn't even like Rush, but even he had to respect their musical technicality, and this girl just made it look like she could do it with her eyes closed.

Shit, she probably could. Didn't hurt that she was hot as hell, too.

XXXX

Blinking away the memory, just one of hundreds that had penetrated his consciousness at every turn for the several days, Mase peeled himself off the bed and slowly got to his feet.

He'd have to go back and finish what he started. He knew that, sooner or later, he'd have to talk to her and quit dicking around like he'd been doing for days. They were going to be confined to the same general space for the next few weeks and it wouldn't do anything but hurt them, as well as their performances, if he kept this juvenile shit up. He just couldn't be sure he was prepared to do it without completely breaking down.

Opening the bedroom door, he wasn't all that surprised to see Iz standing there, leaning against the wall and looking at him expectantly. Any doubt he'd harbored about her picking up on his avoidance was gone in an instant. She was here because it gave him no choice but to acknowledge her.

"Soon," he whispered, his eyes pleading with hers."Just... not yet. We'll talk, but... soon."

After a few seconds, she pressed her lips together and nodded. "Soon," she repeated.

* * *

><p><strong>Soooo sorry for the brief delay, loves. Next chapter, we'll finally get into the present of the MaseBella dynamic. Things should be getting pretty interesting from here on out, as we're about to delve into the real meat of the story, including some rather... adult content in the near future. Hope you stick around! **

**Thanks for the reviews and the faves. I'll do my best to update next week, barring personal catastrophe! Please drop a line. I always love to hear from you guys. **


	6. The Colors of Dusk

6. The Colors of Dusk

"Good work, everyone. I appreciate you guys working so hard. Be ready and at the Forum tomorrow by no later than four for the sound test."

The group nodded their assent to Mase as he headed for the door and got to work packing up their equipment. They wouldn't have to do much, really. The stuff was all going to be transported for them to the Inglewood show, thanks to the roadies. All they had to do was show up. After that they would officially hit the road for the rest of the tour leg, Las Vegas next on the list.

The past two weeks had been some of the most conflicted in Bella's life. The constant work that came with tying up loose ends paired with the exhausting practice sessions had made the time seem incredibly short. On the other hand, the thick, strained silence that had filled the air between herself and Mase made the time seem to inch by slower than evolution. He still hadn't spoken to her since their brief encounter outside of this bedroom three days prior, and she was starting to think that this conversation wouldn't happen until they were well into the roadtrip. If at all.

She couldn't completely blame him, she thought as she gave the DW kit a once-over as soon as the room was empty. Part of her was guiltily relieved at the idea of avoiding the conversation altogether, but she knew that ignoring reality had a price too high. If they didn't try to work on it now, whether or not they communicated ever again after this was over, it would manifest in ugly ways down the line. At the very least, they both needed some closure.

Assessing that the state of her kit was in good enough shape for their first show, she gave the ride cymbal a loving caress with a finger, the brass delightfully cold and textured beneath her fingertip. She wondered if Mase would let her take the set with her once the tour was over. It had been hers, after all. Then again, she wasn't sure she could bring herself to ask. There were so many blurring lines there, between what parts of her old life she still wanted and what she needed to leave behind for a second time.

With a thoughtful twist of her lips, she bent down to pick up her messenger bag, intent on going home and trying to get some sleep before she philosophized herself into an incomprehensible train wreck. She knew she would need the rest for tomorrow.

"Iz," she heard from behind her.

Startled, she whipped around to see Mase standing at the door of the practice room with his eyes downcast, his brindle greyhound, Dash, beside him, leashed and looking eager at the prospect of a walk. Sushi made a show of ignoring the dog as she walked in the room past him, taking her spot on the throne of Bella's drum kit.

"Mase," she croaked, then cleared her throat. "I didn't know you were still here."

"Take a walk with me?" he asked, finally bringing his eyes up to hers.

Her heart rate immediately elevated. Well, at least he had decided not to wait until they were packed like sardines in a tour bus.

With a jerky nod, she set down her bag and stepped toward him. He moved aside to unblock the doorway, pulling Dash gently with him, and giving Bella a half-hearted smile. He let her lead as the three of them padded slowly through the house.

Only once they were out the front door and into the oranges and pinks of the evening sky did he finally speak up. "The first day you came back here, you told me I looked great."

A surprised chuckle burst forth and she peered at him for a moment as they walked down the driveway toward the street. She hadn't been expecting an icebreaker like that. "I... did, yes."

The sudden smile on his face was sheepish. "I... well, I just wanted to tell you that I understand what you meant."

"I know you do." Her replying smile was warm. "And you really do look great. Really. It's so fucking good to see." Even thinking about it made a lump form in her throat and she swallowed.

He offered a long gaze as they continued onto the sidewalk, their pace unhurried. "I really am better. I know I left a lot of shit broken between us, and you haven't been around for years to see what's changed, but... I'm not the same asshole I was." He paused for beat. "I'm still an asshole, just not the same one."

Another laugh bubbled up, thankfully loosening the tightness in her chest a little. "Yeah, I can see that."

He smiled crookedly before taking a breath and continuing, his expression sobering. "I did a lot of really fucked up things to you. Even after you. When you left... everything changed."

Bella could only nod. It had changed everything in her life, too.

"I was so angry. In a lot of ways, I thought that you were responsible for it all, for the way I'd completely destructed. It was bullshit, but you were easy to blame. Even while you were still here. You kept trying to help, and I just thought that you were getting in the way of what my life was supposed to be—what I thought it was supposed to be."

Keeping her eyes on the sidewalk ahead, she bit her lip. It was hard to hear it, but she knew she needed to. "Go on."

"I think when it came down to it, I was just..." he hesitated, sweeping his free hand through his hair, the other firmly gripping the dog's leash. "Scared," he finished in a whisper.

Somehow, it seemed like she had known that the whole time, though it felt like a revelation to hear him say it.

"Yeah," she murmured. _Scared_ rather aptly summed up the only conclusion she could come to about why things had happened the way they had.

"I didn't know what to do with any of it," he continued, his eyes glancing around the street. Fortunately, there didn't appear to be anyone else out to hear their conversation, and Bella was glad. His vulnerability brought up all of those instinctive protective tendencies in her. "I wasn't ready for fame, for fans... because suddenly it seemed like so much expectation came with it, and I didn't know if I could do it all again. I never thought I'd get such a reaction so quickly. I felt exposed, like I'd just revealed so much of myself for the world to see, to be judged or condemned. I hadn't thought at the time that I'd ever worry about shit like that, but when you're in the spotlight, you realize you have nowhere to hide. Like a pig to the slaughter."

These were things that Bella had gotten a taste of, herself. Never to the degree that Mase had, but she understood, and it was becoming more and more clear that she'd known the whole time, on some level, what was going on with him below the surface. It made her ache to think about his fear, and simultaneously made her angry that he'd never really talked to her about it beyond a few cursory and downplayed exchanges. He had always brushed it off like it was some passing phase.

Apparently, he was following a similar thought.

"I lied to you about it, maybe never outright, but I kept you in the dark about what was going on with me." They slowed as Dash sniffed through a patch of grass along the sidewalk. "I thought at first that it was because I just didn't want to bring you down and make you hurt, too. That's what I told myself. But really... I think I just didn't want you to try and help me." He shook his head, lips pulling into a frown. "I wasn't prepared to face all the things that made me so fucked up to begin with, to deal with all the shit with my parents, with life... even with the damage I'd already done to you. And I knew that you'd try to make me face it, but... I was a chicken shit. I thought that the pain was what made me a good songwriter, and if I couldn't reproduce it..."

The action was involuntary, and before she could register the movement, her hand was grasping his. His eyes shot to hers and she very nearly recoiled. The slight squeeze he gave her hand, though, was enough to quell her trepidation for the moment.

She saw his Adam's apple rise and fall, and her eyes searched his.

"I did a lot of bad things, Iz, you know that. Some of them, possibly even the worst of them, after you left. One day I'll be ready to talk about all of it, but for now... this is all I can give."

Bella was already nodding, trying hard not to respond until he was finished. "I know, Mase. It's okay. I'm just glad that we're talking about it. I have my own regrets and mistakes to face, too. They'll take time."

His gaze dropped and he turned his head to watch the dog. She wasn't sure what to make of his silence, and could only guess he was ambivalent about letting her bear some of the responsibility.

"Sometimes I wonder if I made a mistake by leaving when I did," she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

Mase's moss green eyes snapped back to her, his dark brows knitted, his lips parting to speak.

She continued before he could. "I wonder if I could have done more to help you, if I made a mistake by walking out when you were so painfully lost... I'm so scared, all the time, that I did more damage than—"

"Iz, stop," he cut her off, his expression drawn. "No. You did what you needed to do, for yourself and for me. Honestly, when I think about what could have happened if you'd stayed, how much more I could have—_would_ have—hurt you... Christ, I promise you it would have been ten times worse. Your leaving ultimately woke me up."

She blinked up at him, fighting off a sudden and rather embarrassing flood of tears. And they still hadn't unclasped their hands. She could only imagine what a picture they made just then, standing on the sidewalk, inches apart, hands locked, and emotions warring over both of their expressions. She'd never been more glad that he lived in a securely gated neighborhood. Hollywood tourists and paparazzi would go apeshit over this kind of celeb drama.

"I still can't help but wonder, Mase. I think about it all the time."

"No, Iz," he insisted. "Yeah, it took me a little while after that to fully... _appreciate_ it, but you leaving was the only thing that got me to understand what living that way was costing me."

There was no fight in her on the issue for now, too many emotions brewing to rationally debate with him over it. After a long moment, she turned and urged them on, not bothering to let go of his hand. Her reasons for that she would fully analyze later, she was fairly sure, but for now it offered a link of mutual support between them. It was comforting.

"I listened to the music... after," she confessed quietly.

"So you told me." She could see the smirk from the corner of her eye. "Kinda."

"It's only gotten better, truly. You're more amazing than ever, Mase."

His sigh drew her eyes back to his face for a moment.

"Those songs, Iz... some of them are about you."

She almost laughed, but resisted. It seemed a little absurd to mention it now that she was intimately familiar with those songs.

"And I know you know," he said, pulling her to a stop once again. His stare was penetrating. "Some are angry and resentful and downright mean, but... they were all the things I felt at the time. Doesn't mean I still do. Either way... I just... wanted you to hear it from me. I owe you that honesty, at least."

A smile danced across her lips, warm and grateful. "Thanks, Mase. I appreciate that. I can't say I blame you... I'd probably have written the same songs if our roles were reversed, but with half of your eloquence."

A memory fluttered through right then, the night of a notebook, Mase's self doubt, and the smell of something burning in the oven. It had been a good night, even if they'd lost the eggplant. The hushed and urgent whispers they'd shared that night in their bed had more than made up for the sacrifice—whispers that came from the very same lips that were now just inches from her own. She couldn't resist entertaining the curiosity about whether or not they still felt as warm and yielding as they once had.

It was such a natural motion, to lean and tilt her face up, something that she'd done a thousand times. It took her until Mase's eyelids began to lower that she realized what she was about to allow and she drew in a sharp breath.

His eyes flew open and bore into hers, neither of them moving.

"I should go," she uttered, disappointment in herself flitting over her face. This was a huge misstep, and the last thing she wanted was to let things get screwed up between them all over again. They'd just started to make some progress down a road they'd both needed to travel for so long, and she'd felt satisfied with the steps they'd taken. To sabotage that with a reckless impulse was abhorrent, and she couldn't deal with hurting him or herself again. Not now.

She heard him inhale shakily, then he nodded.

Without another word, she released his hand and began to head back to the house.

"Iz," she heard behind her, his voice paper thin. She paused and turned her head to look at him.

His expression was somber, his eyes so haunted she felt another stab through her chest. His lips pressed together before he parted them again.

"I know it doesn't change anything, but... for what it's worth... I'm sorry."

"Me too." With a sad smile, she turned again and continued toward the house, fully aware that they weren't talking about the near-kiss.

* * *

><p>Bella didn't remember the drive home. Her motions were mechanical, every turn deeply ingrained. She couldn't remember how long it took her to get to her driveway, or what songs came on the radio as she drove. Or if she'd even turned on the radio.<p>

All she could see was Mase, his pale pink lips open just a sliver, only a breath away from her own.

Jesus, what had she almost done? There was no doubt that she'd initiated the whole thing with her stupid tilting-face, aren't-I-so-seductive-tee-hee act over there. _Idiot_.

She shut her front door harder than necessary, then sighed. Acting out aggressively was not going to make the situation any better or change what she had done.

Tapping on the hallway table a few times, she deliberated over her options. Not that she could truly correct the error, but she could at least run some damage control. Fishing her phone out of her bag, she scanned through the numbers in her contacts list, seeking out its newest addition.

_Mase M. Masen_, it read, a nickname she'd given him years before, almost forgotten beneath the wreckage.

With unsteady fingers, she pecked out a text message.

_I'm sorry for earlier._

Taking a few deep breaths, she hit send and leaned against the wall.

The reply came no more than twenty seconds later.

_Don't be._

Don't be? Was he not sorry? Or did he think it was nothing and therefore no reason to apologize?

With a groan, she pushed herself off the wall and marched toward her bedroom, resolved to get sleep even if she had to thump her head against the wall a few times.

* * *

><p><strong>Thanks for the faves and subscriptions. Now I would never do something as sucky as review-ransom (jeez, can you say 'I can't live without external validation'?), but I do want to ask for a little more feedback if you're willing to supply it. What I really want to know is... what is it that people like to see in stories? What makes those high review count stories so engaging? I'm truly curious... I want to know what areas I can improve upon or what sorts of things I can possible incorporate to make my writing a little more palatable.<strong>

**I have a theory that, aside from stories in complete status, lemons are often a big draw. Ya pervs! Lol. Not that I can complain. I enjoy a well-written one from time to time, and I will be providing a few in future chapters (hopefully also well-written). Guess we'll see how it goes! My first real experience with writing anything of that nature was in_ Follow Me Inside_, so I guess we'll just have to see how my style has developed since then. **

**Thanks again for the responses! Always, always, always appreciated. I'll be back with another chapter soon. **


	7. The Second Taste

7. The Second Taste

There was a buzz in the air, a current that electrified all the negative space in the arena.

The hum of the crowd's anticipation sent jolts of static up her spine and down her arms, gooseflesh rising over her entire body.

Gods, she had missed this. The seconds before a show were mystical, so much energy building and building until the seams would inevitably burst, and the world outside ceased to exist.

Her favorite part was approaching—the seconds as the blackening stage brought the crowd to a pregnant hush, taut and tense, the entire building and its occupants practically vibrating as a single entity. And then came the deafening roar as silhouettes started filling the stage, the excitement too large to fit in this confinement as each set of eyes recognized that the moment they'd been waiting weeks and months for was about to unfold before them.

Bella had almost forgotten. For one brief moment, she wondered how she'd ever lived without this.

Taking her place at the throne, followed by her bandmates at their respective stations, she breathed it in, savoring the flavor—pure ozone, heady with sweat and promise.

Mase was the last to the stage, the crowds reaching impossibly high decibels as they recognized his shape through the inky darkness. It was almost too dark to see him turn around, give her a smirk and a nod—her signal.

She didn't count off. The first two measures were all her—the first sounds the crowd would hear, and she took one last deep breath, one to remember.

She struck the crash and the snare in one hard, unified motion, and the hard beat unfolded. The lights flared. The crowd thundered. The rush flooded in.

* * *

><p>It was unlike anything he'd ever felt.<p>

He'd been at it for years, but the aura was different than before. Only seconds into the opening song, he knew that they'd never sounded better. Never had he had a lineup of this magnitude, and it escalated his compositions to the dynamic level they'd only ever sounded in his head—the way they were meant to be played, and the way he'd never quite been able to achieve before.

Gripping the microphone, he tore into the music with fervor, the crowd thrashing and screaming before his eyes, mouths belting out lyrics with him in unison.

This was the kind of thing he'd once feared and dreaded, and foolishly so. But, now, if he could sum up everything an experience like this had transformed into with just one word, it would be _perfect_.

He thought he'd understood before. He thought he'd finally developed the love for what he did to its most complete state within the last few years, but this was breaking past those boundaries.

Never had he felt this alive, and never had he felt quite so grateful just to _feel_ so alive. Never had he wanted to thank anyone quite so much as he wanted to thank Iz.

Soon. Soon he'd have to tell her everything, but for now… he was going to drink every last drop of this one sacred night.

* * *

><p>It ended sooner than she'd expected and, while part of her was reluctant to finish the last song, it was a perfect end to a perfect beginning.<p>

Mase had done the formal band introductions near the middle of the show, and she was still reeling—the response from the crowd at hearing her name had been thunderous. It hadn't occurred to her until then that there had been no public word at her rejoining of _Tantum_. Any of the old fans out in the crowd had been in for a treat—as much as she struggled to think of herself quite worthy of such description, able to hear the music as it had been in its roots, performed by the two people who'd been entirely behind the original productions.

She supposed she'd be happy, too, to know that one of her favorite disbanded musical acts had reunited after once being a virtual impossibility. _Tantum_ had never left the scene, granted, but music was always so much better when its creators performed it—every note, beat, and lyric coming from a personal and organic place.

But once Mase had publicly welcomed her back on stage, the noise alone that had followed was beyond anything she might have expected. How could she have forgotten that there were people out there that had once loved her too? Was it just Mase's self-destruction that had really driven her away from this? She struggled to remember just why she'd left it completely. It was addictive, no doubt, but had she ever been in a place to let it compromise who she was?

Another surprise she hadn't been prepared for—this one a little less well received—was her first taste of just how much Mase's fame had evolved. There had been fans before, in numbers no one could scoff at, but never had things ever been quite so…

Uncomfortable.

Upon leaving the stage and heading for the backstage rooms, she was floored by what greeted her. The guys had told her to be expecting this. Apparently, it was a fairly standard thing for them to schmooze with the fans that had been able to get their hands on backstage passes. Initially, Bella had been somewhat amused by the idea that such a thing was all that highly coveted—there'd been a few here and there when she was first part of it, but not like this. The enthusiasm and star-struck worship in their eyes astonished her—especially in the volume of females that flocked around Mase as he made his way into the lounge.

They came in all shapes, colors, and sizes, though most of them seemed to dress in some over-the-top goth gear. Many of them were gorgeous. And quite a few of them were startlingly young. To his credit, Bella noticed that Mase was exceptionally polite with them and a little distant.

The older ones seemed to allow no such personal space, however. Bella was even more chagrined by her own jealous flare at the sight. Christ. It's not like he'd been celibate since their break up. Hell, he'd been far less celibate than she was even when they were still together, for Pete's sake. It was unreasonable and plain foolish to assume for a moment that he'd given up sex during those six years, perhaps even engaging in a relationship or two.

She hadn't exactly taken a vow of chastity when she'd left all those years ago. She'd certainly been slow about getting back into the realm of dating, though, and it was probably a good three years before she'd even felt ready to get intimate with someone. Of course, she'd put up walls. Sex had become somewhat impersonal, and purely at her own behest. Relationships with any intimacy beyond the physical were another demon altogether, and as much as she'd tried to fool herself into thinking she could handle it, she could never quite make it past that precipice.

Still… she hadn't indulged very much. She could count her partners on one hand during that time period and still have most of her fingers left over. It didn't appear that she could assume the same for Mase, as much as women were evidently throwing himself at him around the clock.

She had to hand it to him, though. He'd taken to handling himself much more gracefully when it came to letting down the groupies, she noticed. Part of her wondered if he was restraining himself for her benefit. But why would he do a fool thing like that? They were long separated. He probably assumed that she'd been in relationships since.

Unless Seth had told him otherwise.

Grimacing, she resolved that she'd have to find out just what Seth had been filling Mase's ears with, just for the sake of preparedness. The last thing she wanted was for Mase to believe she'd been hopelessly scarred and having a relationship with nothing but the memory of them.

Which was only mildly true.

Not liking where that thought ended up, she focused once again on the scene at hand, only to find that Mase was looking at her as she leaned against the doorframe of the lounge.

No, he was _staring_ at her. His expression was pensive, at best, but everything else was undecipherable. For a second, she thought she could detect a smile as subtle as Mona Lisa's. The fans around him, male and female, were noticing his divided attention and a few flicked glances her way, some of them conveying mild annoyance paired with what she perceived as an almost comical desire to break away from him for a chance to talk to her. She'd certainly had her own respectable share of fans back in the day, but it had been a while since she'd been in a situation designed specifically for fan service.

It was taking some getting used to, but beyond that the feeling was admittedly a little addictive.

Breaking away from the intensity of Mase's gaze, she turned her attention to a few members of the small crowd that had started to materialize around her. Men and women alike, all in varying age groups. Bella was taken aback to think that most of these folks, especially the younger ones, even knew who she was and cared enough to seek her attention.

Her heart full, she gladly took some time to sign a few autographs and chat with them, trying not to give dickishly evasive answers to questions surrounding her return and the permanence of this new lineup. They hung onto each word that passed her lips, and god, it was hard not to drink it up to the point of dizziness. Times like these it wasn't hard to understand why Mase had succumbed to addiction of the lifestyle.

As the night wound down and the room began to empty out, she found him letting a lingering group take a few pictures with him before they shuffled out the door. James had wandered off somewhere, probably giving some groupie or two her money's worth, Jasper had retired for the night wanting to get in touch with Alice, and Seth was hovering near the door, gently trying to usher the remaining stragglers out the door.

Mase was just settling into a cozy looking brown couch and guzzling down a bottle of water as she made her way over.

"That was... something," she began, shaking her head, still reeling from the experience of the night.

His eyes reached hers and he gestured to the spot beside him.

Swallowing, Bella sat down, unsure what else to say, and wondering if anything was even necessary.

"We've never sounded better," he finally spoke once she'd settled beside him. "I can't remember a show quite like that... ever."

Their eyes locked and she knew he wasn't just paying her lip service.

"I can't say I remember it being that good either," she replied, a ghost of a smile on her lips. "And I remember it being pretty fucking amazing."

His expression took on a gravity she wasn't quite expecting.

"Do you?" he asked.

Observing him for a moment, her eyes unwavering, she finally nodded. "I do."

Releasing a breath in the form of a quiet laugh, he dropped his gaze and offered Seth a nod as he was leaving, and took another drink from his water bottle.

"I guess you're what's been missing," he stated finally.

The words were innocuous enough, but she couldn't quell the sudden tingle that shot through her.

"Maybe." It was the only thing she could think to say.

Those jade eyes met hers once more. "I don't think there's a maybe about it."

This was treading dangerous territory. Again. For the second time since their lives had converged again, he was so close. Close enough to touch, to feel his breath, to kiss his familiar lips should the two of them move in just another few inches.

And just like the first time, it felt completely natural. Instinctual. Deeply programmed muscle memory. How many times had they shared a post-show kiss... among other things? Christ, it must have been in the thousands. And, without a doubt, she wanted it. As fucked up as things had gotten, there had been truly beautiful, cathartic, and powerfully intimate exchanges between them, and there was a big part of her that longed for just one more fix.

But once again, she knew it was only sabotage. There were so many hurdles to get over before they could even really call themselves friends, let alone open the door for something more.

With that, she offered a sad smile.

He swallowed and supplied one in return. He knew it, too.

Before she could talk herself out of it, she leaned in and placed her lips against his cheek, taking a second longer than was necessary to breathe in his scent.

That was a mistake.

Closing her eyes against an unexpected sting, she pulled back and got up, muttering nothing more than a simple goodnight and exiting the room.

* * *

><p><strong>I'm back, and trying to get into the groove of things after my long, long hiatus from writing. Deep thanks to those who have returned to see the continuation of this piece after all this time, as well as for those sporadic reviews, faves, and alerts that still popped up even while I was MIA.<strong>

**Bear with me as I get this back into some kind of comprehensible form...**


	8. Strings

8. Strings

"How many times am I going to have to watch this?" Bella grumbled aloud, not thinking twice about any listening ears in the immediate vicinity.

"What's that?" Seth spoke from behind her. She promptly regretted opening her mouth, as she could practically hear the smirk that shaped the words.

Releasing a long breath, she turned to look at Seth before tilting her head in the direction of the corner of the backstage lounge.

Seth didn't bother looking. Naturally, he already knew and his smile grew. "Something bothering you about seeing Mase getting pawed at and drooled over by attractive women?"

"No," she replied quickly, sounding more petulant than she liked.

He clearly wasn't buying it either by the look he leveled at her.

Rolling her eyes, she sat down in one of the hard, plastic chairs, a groan escaping her lips, half in frustration and half in legitimate pain. This certainly wasn't one of the more accommodating venues, and she was aching all over after the show they'd just finished.

It was gradually getting easier, though. At the very least, her physical stamina was increasing, anyway. It was one thing to play long sessions in the studio with periods of rest in between, and another thing entirely to go full boar without stopping for a couple of hours straight. Adrenaline fueled a great deal of it, and though she was stronger now than she used to be, she begrudgingly had to contend with the fact that she'd be thirty in few weeks and her joints weren't letting her forget.

Bringing her eyes up to Seth, she shook her head helplessly. "Alright, it's stupid. I can admit that. Shit, it's not like I didn't see it when we were still in a relationship."

"Yeah, but you know you didn't have a whole lot of personal boundaries then," he said plainly, taking the seat next to her. Thankfully, the room wasn't as swamped with fans as it had been in some of the bigger city venues.

"You sure don't mince words, do you?" she chuckled.

He simply shrugged. "Am I wrong?"

Taking another long look at the scene in the corner, she finally spoke after moment. "No."

It wasn't that bad, really. Mase was leaning against a wall, talking quietly with the small group that had accumulated around him. He was too far away for her to tell what he was saying, but his demeanor was distinctly in the tense, _trying-really-hard-to-be-polite_ zone. If she didn't know any better, she would have guessed he was angry and trying hard to hide it.

Hm. That was a little different. Usually Mase was one of the most genuine people she knew, always appreciative and grateful when it came to attention he received from his fans.

"So…?" Seth spoke up again, snapping her from the errant thoughts.

Tearing her eyes away, she glanced at Seth before leaning back in the chair, wincing at the hard backing, and sighed. "Is it ridiculous for me to feel this way?"

He leaned back with her, crossing his arms over his chest and stretching out his legs. "Well, define 'this way'."

It wasn't in her nature to be coy or vague, to beat around issues the way she knew she was, and she didn't like it. Damned if this situation wasn't honestly beginning to bring up some old, ugly habits she thought she'd broken away from.

"We really…" she began, fumbling for the right words. "We really cared about each other once. I mean, I still care about him. He was such a vital part of my life that… I don't know. I think maybe those strings will kinda always be there." She shrugged, unsure if that explanation truly delivered everything she was trying to say. Her thoughts were a mess when it came to reconciling her emotions with her more rational nature.

Seth was silent for several moments before he tilted his head, and then double-checked to make sure Mase was still out of earshot. "You wanna know something, Bella?"

She snorted a not-quite-amused laugh. "I want to know a lot of things, Seth."

His eyes on Mase, Seth leaned forward in his chair, elbows atop knees. "I have every reason to believe it's the same for him. He avoided talking about you for a long time, but when you did come up … well, let's just say he always reacted a little stronger than I think he really wanted to."

Bella gave him a long, sideways glance. "If I paid you, do you think you could _possibly_ be any more vague?"

He rolled his eyes. "Look, we know he had a lot of anger around the whole thing, but every time I mentioned you, or something you were doing, or someone you … uh, knew … he'd get all messed up over it. I think he probably thought he was hiding it well, but I always knew better."

Her eyes narrowed slightly. "Just how much does he know, Seth? About me."

No doubt he knew what she was asking. The guilty look that drew his eyes away was evidence enough. "Not much. I only ever really told him about that one guy… Riley, was it? And I only mentioned it when I thought things might get serious between you two."

She resisted the urge to scoff. He wasn't far off base, but to her the entire relationship she'd had with Riley had seemed so juvenile; at least as far as the depth of her own feelings. She couldn't have said the same for poor Riley.

"Even now… I'm not too sure how well he'd react if there was someone …" Seth trailed off with a shrug of his shoulders before standing. "Look, just stop pussyfooting around, Bells. Talk to him. For real."

He left her to her thoughts, and she turned once more to look at Mase. His eyes met hers for a brief moment, long enough to see a flicker of old sadness before he was forced to return his attention to the group around him.

_Easier said than done._

* * *

><p>The night before the last show, everyone had more or less settled into a comfortable routine. At least, as comfortable as they could be while packed onto two tour buses.<p>

Bella didn't really think much of travelling on the same bus with Mase—this was how it always had been between them, even before they'd developed a relationship. They would sit at the keyboard together, collaborating on ideas for either the shows or an entirely new song. Or just having some fun.

There wasn't much collaboration going on these days, nor was there a whole lot of fun being had.

Well, that wasn't entirely true. Aro was also sharing their bus, and he could spend hours at the table regaling them with humorous war stories. At least, that was how they dubbed his long history in the music industry. Bella jokingly made comparisons between him and the old roadie from Wayne's World 2. He pretended to take offense, but all of them knew better. Other days, he'd sit at the keyboard, singing old classics in his gravelly voice, encouraging all onboard to sing along with him. She wasn't sure there was anything more entertaining than the three of them belting out howls as they sang to _Werewolves of London_.

This hadn't been one of those days, however. Things were quiet in the bus, though she wasn't sure if it was due to tension or just exhaustion from their string of nine shows all in close succession.

Bella sat alone at the table with her phone in hand, browsing through her upcoming work schedule in the studio, and nursing a cup of Brazil Ipanema. The coffee was her favorite, and she'd initially wondered if Mase had supplied it specifically for her, or if he'd taken to drinking it himself over the past several years. She wouldn't complain either way.

She'd been at it close to twenty minutes, trying to figure out how she was going to juggle the workload she had on her plate when she got back into the studio as s result of having to put things off for the duration of the tour.

She hadn't even noticed that Mase was seated across from her until she was about to get up for a refill. She very nearly yelped when she saw him, but just managed to contain it, instead stiffening, and then blinking several times over. "How long have you been there?"

He smirked. "A few minutes. You looked so concentrated, so I didn't want to interrupt."

"You could have made a noise or something, you friggin' ninja."

That smirk broke into a snicker, and he merely shrugged. "This was more fun."

It was hard to resist smiling, reminded once again of that other life where he'd crack jokes and play around with her, before things had turned into a perpetual state of cheerlessness.

When he didn't say anything else, she rose and poured herself another cup of coffee, then assessed the remainder of the black liquid inside the French press. "Enough for one last cup. Want it?"

After a few seconds, he finally mustered a quiet, "Sure."

Bringing both mugs back to the table, she slid one over to him. "Black, right?"

He nodded once before taking a sip.

Awkwardly, Bella took her own sip, unsure what else to really say. Most of the time, he spent his evenings in the bedroom at the back of the bus when there was nothing else going on. Clearly, there was a reason he'd come out to join her. Though maybe he'd just smelled the coffee. That would be reason enough, she surmised. Maybe she was just reading too far into it like everything else these days.

"I, uh … I wanted to talk to you about something." His words came tentatively, and it surprised her.

This wasn't the first time she'd seen him behave a little unusual since their reunion of sorts, but she was having trouble deciphering what could be truly considered unusual here, considering how much change had evidently occurred in their separation. Either way, it wasn't like him to be unsure of his own words.

"So I guess you _didn't_ just come for the coffee," she said, looking down into her cup. Why was anxiety suddenly curling up in her chest?

"No," he replied with a soft chuckle. He opened his mouth to speak again, but hesitated.

Brow furrowing in concern, she unthinking reached out to touch his hand. "Mase, what is it?"

His eyes automatically darted toward her traitorous hand, and she sucked in a breath, instantly realizing she'd instinctively given into another one of those deeply ingrained habits. She started to pull away, but his hand turned and grasped hers before she could.

"The other night," he finally began, not lifting his eyes from their hands, "after the show, there was this girl. Tall, blonde, smokin' hot …"

A dark eyebrow lifted. He'd just described what she'd somewhat bitterly believed to be half of his fan base. But beyond that, why was he telling her this?

"Let me back up a little," he said, bringing his eyes back up to hers. He still hadn't released her hand. "I haven't used in over three years—no junk, coke, even weed. Hell, I rarely smoke cigarettes anymore."

She wasn't sure why the confession had such a shocking effect. Seth had been telling her he was clean for a while now, but she supposed she'd never actually qualified in her head exactly what that may have meant, or quantified how long it may have been.

"Wow," was all she could say. "That's _great_, Mase."

He was shaking his head, obviously not looking for her praise. "Doesn't mean it's not hard or that I don't still consider myself an addict. I am, I think I always will be. But I just don't let myself give in anymore."

Nodding, she silently urged him to continue.

His Adam's apple bobbed, and she knew he was beginning to struggle with what he was going to say next. Surreptitiously, she glanced around to make sure Aro was nowhere around, and figured he was probably sitting up front by Felix, the roadie driving the bus. Her protective instincts were apparently just as deeply ingrained.

"I always have someone check everyone at the door before they come backstage. They can't do fuckin' strip searches or anything, but they make sure it's clear that I don't want any drugs comin' near me. Most respect it, at least enough not to bring anything out."

Bella couldn't deny she was becoming increasingly nervous about where he was going with this. Had he fallen prey to temptation? She immediately felt horrible for thinking it, for not giving him the benefit of the doubt, but she wasn't sure her thoughts were unreasonable.

After a momentary pause, he continued, his posture hunched over the table and his jaw tense. "But this one fuckin' girl. Every bit the typical groupie. The kind I used to be drawn to, I guess. She brought out maybe an 8 ball of blow and offered me a bump, and I nearly lost my shit." He roughly swept his free hand through his hair and pressed on. "Not only was I pissed that this chick would do something like that, but …" He stopped again, only to resume in a shamed whisper, his eyes now on the table. "_Fuck_, I haven't been tempted like that in a long time. Part of this ability to abstain has been to just not expose myself to the stuff anymore."

Her lips parted, but no sound came forth.

Quite honestly, she didn't know what to say. She still didn't know if he'd ultimately given in, but she was getting the impression he hadn't. Even worse, she was _aching_ for him. Of course, she knew that his rehabilitation couldn't have been a cut and dry process, but to see the evidence of how much he continued to struggle with it made her heart feel like it was at the mercy of a Vise Grip.

"What … what did you do?" she managed to ask, wincing at how small her voice sounded.

He barked a short laugh. "I tossed her ass out. Haven't had to do something like that to a fan in years."

That explained the tension she'd seen on his face the other day. Apparently, she'd missed all of the commotion from the sound of it, but she hadn't seen him look quite so upset since she'd returned.

"Jeez," she breathed, "that couldn't have been easy. Are you okay?"

Bringing his eyes back up to hers, he seemed to take a measurement of her expression. Perhaps he was questioning how concerned she truly was.

After a moment he seemed to be satisfied, because he shook his head and swallowed, averting his eyes once more.

The effort came too late, because she'd seen the rims of them begin to redden.

"Mase…" she choked out, squeezing his hand. "Talk to me. Please."

He blinked several times rapidly before drawing in a slow breath and speaking again. "It's been hard, Iz, doing this alone. I mean, I've had Seth here, and he's done more for me than any friend should have to, but … no one really knows this part of me, or _any_ of me. Not like … you do. Did." He shook his head. "But I don't blame you for leaving, and I wouldn't ask anything of you that you can't give. I already owe you more than I could possibly make up to you in my whole fuckin' life, but I want to think that for once … for once, maybe I won't disappoint you."

Frozen in place, she pored over the words a hundred times in the span of only seconds. Somewhere in here he was asking something of her, but she hadn't yet identified exactly what.

He must have read it on her face, because he began to speak again. "I'm not asking for anything beyond just … your friendship. If you think you can even do that. I'm better, Iz, I promise you, but … _fuck_ all, I still need help sometimes."

"But why mine?" The question had fallen from her lips before she was even consciously aware of its origin.

He seemed to ponder this for a long moment. "I'm not sure. Maybe some act of redemption to make you believe it wasn't all in vain. Maybe to prove something. I don't know, Iz. I just know that having you around lately… I feel like I've gained something back that I thought was lost."

The words were so sincere and clearly so painful for him to say, that it was hard not to just plainly give in right then and there.

"Mase," she started, her voice rough. She took a second to clear her throat and collect her thoughts. "I want to help you, but I don't know if it's a good idea. There are still… _strings_ there, you know? There's no sense in denying that. I don't know if I can protect you and protect myself at the same time."

Slowly, he nodded. "I understand. I do. But I'm asking you to give me the opportunity to prove to you that your effort won't be wasted this time. I wasn't ready for the help back then, but… I am now. Just stick around and see for yourself. Please."

She must have still had a skepticism written all over her face, because he rushed on.

"Besides, we still haven't found another drummer, and you know you've been loving this."

The crooked smile that formed over his lips did her in.

A sigh escaped her. "Can't lie. I have. Alright. Okay. I'll… I'll stay." She withdrew her hand from his and held up a finger. "But we have to talk. _Really_ talk. I want to know everything. Maybe not this minute, but… think about what I'm asking."

Mase took another sip from his coffee before he replied. "Okay. I promise we'll talk. But … it goes both ways, Iz. I want to know what you've been doing these last six years. I want to help you too, if you'll let me."

That, in and of itself, was a demonstration of just how much things had changed. She was used to Mase being the center of attention when it came to the music, the fame, even down to every dysfunction they'd had between them. But she knew she wasn't free of guilt or damage of her own. That he wanted to share the spotlight was both terrifying and elating all at the same time, and spoke vastly of his personal growth.

Nodding her ascent, she offered him a smile. "Friends, then. I can do that. Now get outta here. I have to call the studio and tell them I'm taking a season off and it won't be pretty."

Mase just laughed and got up, taking his coffee with him and disappearing into the bedroom.

Friends. Right. It could happen.

Pushing herself out of her thoughts, she found the number for Entity Records and connected, bringing the phone up to her ear and bracing herself for impact.

"Yeah, Mike Newton, please."

* * *

><p><strong>Seeeee, I told you I wouldn't take so long this time!<strong>

**Massive thanks to SunflowerFran for the beta.**

**Also, I owe a huge thanks to all of the people who have been recommending this fic over on FB, including SunflowerFran herself, Fanfic Angst H00rs, and cejsmom, and anyone else that helped out with the process. All of you are awesome.**

**Additionally, to all of those that have reviewed, favorited, followed—it means a great deal to me to see such a response.**

**I always encourage feedback, so please drop a line if you're so inclined. Thanks for reading and stay tuned for more!**


	9. A Little Closer

9. A Little Closer

Friends.

Mase was starting to wish he'd never offered a label of such credence.

It wasn't hard to figure out in these past weeks just how much he'd really missed Iz's presence in his life. When he'd first been agonizing over whether or not he'd be able to handle having her around again, he'd been purely focused on nothing but trying to make things right by her, maybe earning forgiveness along the way if she felt him worthy of it. But he hadn't given enough thought to the other side of things, and he knew it was a big mistake on his part.

He'd never forgotten for an instant that he'd truly loved her once, and he was starting to wonder if those feelings had ever dissipated or if they'd just lain dormant without her presence to nurture them.

That wasn't true, though. No, he didn't have to wonder, if he was being totally honest with himself. The only question that remained was whether or not those feelings came from the person he'd been or the person he was now. Was there even a fundamental difference, or had he simply begun to reemerge from the caked-on layers of abuse and self-medication, and all of their symbiotic companions?

It was plain enough to see that she'd grown up a lot, but that was nothing he hadn't easily observed upon their first meeting in six years. Only now, however, was he beginning to appreciate just how much strength she'd developed, how emotionally mature she'd become in comparison to the person she'd been.

Yet still she was the same in so many ways. Levelheaded, dedicated to her craft, loyal, and genuine. And warm. So, so warm.

He no longer blamed her for running out on him, hadn't for years. It had taken him a while to get to that point, but he'd learned a hard lesson, and with it came the realization that she'd never been cruel or disloyal. When she'd left, she'd done so out of love, for herself and for him. How could he possibly find fault in her for that?

"Mase? You okay?"

Her voice broke through his reverie and he snapped back to his surroundings—an unremarkable backstage room in St. Louis, and Iz standing in the doorway looking at him with concern in those rich, mahogany eyes.

"I've been calling you, did you not hear me?" she asked, her brow furrowing.

Her worry caused a pool of guilt to flood his heart. He didn't deserve it from her anymore. Maybe once upon a time he did, but that felt like a lifetime ago. Yet, wasn't that the very thing he'd just asked her to do again not even a week ago?

Conjuring a conciliatory smile, he nodded. "Yeah, I'm good. I was just … thinkin'. Is it time?"

The smile she gave in return nearly blinded him. "Yeah, they're about ready for the sound check. I'll meet you out there."

That warmth just might kill him.

XXXX

He was fuming. Again.

"Are you fuckin' serious with this shit?" Mase was shouting.

James was rolling his eyes. "Calm the fuck down, man. It's not a big deal. Probably just a bad connection."

"Two shows in a row now, James. If it happens again, you're fuckin' done here."

That got James going, and it was only seconds later that he was getting in Mase's face, his voice rising. "What the hell is the matter with you? It's probably just a faulty output jack or a bad cord. Do you have to be such a bitch about everything? Bella not puttin' out for you again or somethin'?"

Mase just barely resisted throwing a punch. Growling, he roughly nudged James out of the way as he stormed downstage. "That's it. You're out. Get the fuck out of my sight."

"Mase!" Iz called to him, grabbing his arm, a pair of drumsticks in her other hand. "Are you out of your mind? We have a show tonight!"

"Cancel it," he bit out, jerking his arm from her grasp.

Those sticks clattered to the floor and she was suddenly in front of him, hands on his shoulders. Those dark, black-outlined eyes bore into his and he knew she was going to try and reason with him.

"Mase, stop. Listen to me, okay?"

He clenched his jaw and stood stock still, waiting for her to get out whatever it was she had to say.

She let go of him, sweeping a hand through her black and pink-streaked hair, her eyes following the cursing form of James as he gruffly walked past them.

"You know you don't want to do this," she began, bringing her eyes back to his.

He opened his mouth to speak, but she rushed on.

"What about the fans, Mase? All of those people that planned for months to come here and hear your music, people that paid good money for those tickets. Even if you reschedule, you know you're just needlessly making their lives harder. They're the victims here."

It was the right and the wrong thing to say. He was furious with her for not allowing him his anger, regardless of how irrational it may or may not have been. She had his number, though. He hated disappointing people, especially the unsuspecting fans that were counting down mere hours until they'd flood this arena. He never cancelled a show unless he absolutely _had_ to, and even then it had happened maybe twice in his career.

"Fuck," he hissed, turning his face away from her. Heaving several hard breaths, he grasped a fistful of his unkempt hair. When had he started feeling so out of control? "Call James back. I just … I just need a fuckin' minute."

Eyeing him carefully for a moment, Iz swallowed and backed away. "Go get some water or something. Stay clean tonight, okay?"

He wasn't sure if his face betrayed his surprise, but he tried like hell to conceal it.

So she knew. He supposed it was stupid to expect any different, but he'd been trying to keep it away from her. It was only an occasional indulgence, after all.

Studying her face, he tried to extract any indication of what she might be thinking, but all he could see was fear and disappointment.

Steeling himself against the wave of uninvited remorse, he turned and continued off the stage, anywhere that got him away from those haunted dark eyes.

XXXX

Realizing he'd gotten lost in his thoughts again, Mase finally made his way out to the stage, noting that Iz was already behind her kit, rhythmically thumping away at her base drum in time with a slow, hypnotic bass line that reverberated from Jasper's Fender.

Seth was talking with Aro over his keyboards, and James was adjusting the distortion on a Marshall stack with his Les Paul slung over him, joining in the impromptu jam moments later with high, sustained notes that instantly gave the music an eerie, chill-inducing quality.

The sounds came together with the effortless, easy quality of musicians who had spent years of intense hard work perfecting their skills. He was sure all of them could do this with their eyes closed.

A perfect lineup.

He wasn't sure he could ever remember such contentment. A few more puzzle pieces left to go, and just maybe he'd find that place of peace he'd been searching for all along.

He didn't realize he'd been smiling until Iz caught his eye and sent him a wink.

* * *

><p>St. Louis had been a great show, as had each one that followed it.<p>

Word had gotten out weeks back about Iz joining the lineup, and the venues were packed to the rafters. Not that she felt in any way responsible for it, she'd told him. He was pretty sure she was wrong, though.

Things were going better than Mase could have hoped for.

The music was impeccable night after night, and the energy never waned from any member of his band. James was a hell of a showman these days, his heavy riffs, counterbalanced with haunting solos never missing a note or an opportunity to elevate the songs to new levels. Jasper was a crowd pleaser in his own way, his more subtle presence allowing his intricate work on the bass to shine and carry everyone through the songs with graceful ease. Seth was a master in attention to detail, accenting every song with a perfectly timed loop or a delicate piano riff.

And then there was Iz. She was a monster on the drums. He'd seen it to some degree when she'd come back during those laborious hours of practice, but it was another thing altogether to experience her live, now that she'd re-acclimated to a live environment. Her sticks never missed a beat, and she was taking more liberties with embellishments, adding personal flair and fills that would impress the pants off of any of the greats. No one would ever guess she hadn't known many of these songs before a couple of months ago. She played with a kind of fire that he'd never seen in her before, her passion palpable, saturating every move she made and every expression she wore as she tapped, thrashed, and crashed her way through each piece of music with speed and precision. She loved what she did and it poured from her.

Musically, things couldn't have been better for _Tantum_.

Personally, things were proving a little more difficult, but even that was gradually starting to brighten a little.

He'd sat at his keyboard a few weeks before, thinking everyone else on the bus was asleep. Before long, however, he'd found Iz hovering in the dark, watching him with a wistful and reminiscent smile on her face. She'd told him that she'd missed listening to him play, nothing but his voice and his piano, and then excused herself to get some sleep.

She'd watched him a few times after that, each time coming a little closer, lingering a little longer. He'd figured out that it was her way of demonstrating that she was still there, a silent show of support that she was making herself available to him if he needed her.

Tonight, he was hoping he would find her hovering in the dark again.

He sat with one hand drifting over the keys, coaxing a soft and sad melody in A minor and wishing for something to quiet the static in his head. Or someone.

They'd had a few conversations since the night before the tenth show, and he was revealing more of his struggles with addiction, piece by piece, sometimes sharing with her some of his memories of their time together. When he'd run out of the easy ones to bring up, he slowly began picking his way through some of the harder ones, but they both knew he was holding back from the real darkness of that era, and more so with the time following her departure. Iz was nothing but infinitely patient with him, and he wasn't sure if he was glad for that or not.

The bus was nearly silent again tonight, save for the muted, white noise of pavement beneath its tires. Mostly everyone was exhausted after each show, but he found sleep wasn't coming as easily to him. It never really had.

His mind was fraught with anxiety, but that wasn't terribly unusual. Tonight, though, at least it was rooted in hope rather than its usual flavor of regret.

It wasn't but a minute later that he heard a soft voice behind him, her low, untrained contralto humming a melody to accompany his mournful notes.

He smiled softly to himself as he heard her slowly making her way over toward him. He'd always liked her voice. She was a drummer to the core, but he was convinced she'd be a great singer if she'd put even half of the passion she had for drums into it. She'd always ignored him when he told her such things, but never hesitated to provide a little accompaniment when he played from time to time.

Finally, she drifted into his peripheral view and he turned his head to meet her eyes.

She surprised him by sitting on the bench beside him, but he didn't let his fingers fumble, his left hand finally joining his right as he gave the song a little depth in low, gentle chords.

Her lips parted and her voice evolved from a hum into a breathy, shapeless melody.

After a few more measures, the tune tapered off into a few staccato notes in a higher octave, and then came to a stop.

He dropped his hands from the keys, but his gaze remained vigilant on hers. "I like that."

Her lips quirked into a half-smile and she shrugged. "Had that song stuck in my head since you started playing it, so I had a few ideas. I've got a drumline in mind, too. Think you might appreciate it."

Something in his chest tightened and he offered a nod. It had been so long since they'd collaborated on music, and the fact that she felt comfortable enough to do so once again did inexplicable things to his brain chemistry. How many times had he missed her input on nearly every musical composition that came from his hands? The number had to have surpassed the thousands by now.

"I'd like to hear them," he finally mustered. "Your voice still sounds good. Been practicing?"

A chuckle escaped her lips and she rolled her eyes. "Hardly. You're never gonna give up on that, are you? Once a drummer, always a drummer, man."

He twisted his lips. "Ha. Tell that to Dave Grohl."

"Shut up," she grumbled, playfully pushing his shoulder. "Play something else."

He did nothing but watch her for a moment, before lifting his hands to the keys again and beginning another melody, more focused on her expression than he was on the music.

Too late, he realized what he was playing and drew in a shaking breath. The song had never made it onto any of the albums or the stage. Everything about it was personal, _too_ personal, and he didn't know if he was ready to let her hear it.

Eyes falling to his fingers, he swallowed down a lump that had formed in his throat and a few notes clinked together out of harmony before he dropped his hands from the keyboard.

"Mase?" she asked gently. "What was that? It was pretty."

Licking his lips, he brought his eyes back to her face, her features molded in innocence and curiosity, and it made him _hurt_.

"Just … something I worked on a few years back."

"I liked it. Ever want to do something with it?"

What could he say here? He didn't want to discourage this newfound comfort she'd developed to even sit down and work on music with him, or worse, just plain lie to her.

For nearly a minute, he said nothing, just taking in her eyes, so dark in the lack of light within the bus that they were almost black. It was then he noticed its presence, weak and dim from disuse, but it was undoubtedly there.

That tiny, effervescent spark.

He nearly choked on the emotion that was rapidly rising in his esophagus, causing a sting in his eyes.

Never removing his gaze from her, he waited until he could speak again, until finally, _finally_, the words were true.

"Yeah. Someday, I do. When I'm ready."

She seemed to understand, a gentle smile curling her lips. Nodding, she then placed a hand against his face before leaning forward to let her forehead touch his.

Neither of them moved for several seconds, and he listened to the sound of her breath, focused on absorbing the warmth of her so close as he breathed in her scent. Somehow, he knew she was doing the same.

When his lips touched hers, it surprised both of them for only a split second.

Then it was as natural as breathing air, as though nothing had ever changed. Her lips pliantly molded to his, soft and warm and sweeter than wine. Before he was aware of what was happening, she was pressed against him and he had her on his lap, pinned between his body and the keyboard, discordant notes ringing out in the silence, accompanied only by intermittent gasps of air as they shifted for better access to each other, the kiss falling deeper and deeper and impossibly deeper.

Her fingers found their way into his hair, entangling themselves and keeping him at her mercy, and he had no will to protest.

Jesus, she felt and tasted and smelled like _home_.

With a sudden movement, it was over all too soon, and it took him a moment to realize she was looking at him wide-eyed, lips trembling.

"Iz," he gasped desperately, unsure what he was trying to ask for.

"Fuck," she breathed, covering her mouth.

"Don't," he begged errantly.

She licked her lips, and he winced involuntarily, irrationally gutted for one insane moment at the idea that she wanted no trace of his touch left behind.

God damn it, he knew it was too soon for this. He hadn't even considered letting something like this happen, especially not while things were still so tenuous between them. He couldn't deny he'd entertained the notion of something more, that wasn't new, but he'd thought he was past the point of ruining things by thinking with his dick.

Hadn't it all been leading up to this, though? The tension had been there since she'd walked back into the studio. She'd even almost kissed him that evening as they'd walked Dash together down the street. Both of them knew better than to just pretend there was nothing between them.

"Iz," he said again in a low voice, waiting for her to say or do something.

Blinking, she pulled her hand from her mouth and took a few deep breaths. "I … this shouldn't …" She started over after another flustered sigh. "We can't. I'm not ready. You're not ready."

Words failed him as he absorbed hers, and he didn't resist when she climbed off of him and stood.

"Maybe…" she began again hesitantly, straightening herself out. Then she shook her head, giving him a smile that he assumed was meant to reassure. It didn't.

He averted his eyes and looked back down at the piano keys.

Only once he heard the sound of her footsteps heading toward her bed did he move again, elbows hitting the keys hard as he dropped his face into his hands, wondering if, for the second time, everything they'd been working toward had just fallen apart in only a few seconds.

* * *

><p><strong>Hey, kids. Thanks for those reviews, faves, alerts. Some are getting impatient for things to happen, and some are thinking it's going too fast. Most, however, seem perfectly content with the pace. That's about where I am. :D <strong>

**Mase still has to really open up about his past, but it makes sense to me why he'd put it off while they're still acclimating to being around each other again. We'll see it soon, though. Just keep your pants on.**

**Big thanks to SunflowerFran for the beta, and all of the supportive folks over on FB. **

**See ya next time, everyone! Drop a line if you feel like it. **


	10. Between Two Points

10. Between Two Points

She didn't blame Mase.

It was a thoughtless error in judgment, and Bella was fully aware that she shared equal responsibility. Part of her was convinced she'd initiated that kiss perhaps more consciously than he had.

That didn't mean he wasn't blaming himself for it.

To her great dissatisfaction, he was now treading carefully around her. When he'd asked her for friendship, she'd been readily willing to offer it, but this hardly qualified as friendship. To his credit, he wasn't avoiding her as he once may have when he didn't like dealing with sticky issues, but he wasn't exactly chomping at the bit to discuss it and find some sort of resolution.

But maybe that was her misjudgment.

_Was _there a resolution?

For the first time in weeks, ever since they'd begun to make progress in working out all of their shit, she was starting to doubt her decision about joining this tour.

The last thing she wanted was for either of them to be hurt again, but how could they possibly avoid that if they let themselves get swept up in the romance of the situation? Sure, it sounded great—two lovers, long since parted, discovering each other again, kissing their problems away. Then living out their days in ignorant bliss with three maladjusted children running around wreaking havoc because their parents didn't know how to be honest with themselves, let alone each other.

Okay, ultimately, it didn't sound so great.

With that thought, she slammed her suitcase shut and decided a drink down in the hotel's bar sounded like a good idea.

She was glad for _that_, at least. They were settled for three days for a music festival in New Orleans, which meant proper accommodations, and Bella was torn with ambivalence over the opportunity for a little privacy away from the buses. On one hand, it meant not having to be faced with the problem at hand lest it completely blow up into an unmanageable state. However, on the other hand, it meant not having to be faced with the problem at all and possibly letting things fester until they totally unraveled from within.

Throwing open the door in her haste, she nearly crashed into the small form of Alice.

"Shit, sorry!" She said, grasping Alice's shoulders in an effort to keep both of them from tumbling to the ground.

The smaller woman didn't seem to mind, a bright smile erupting across her face. "Oh, hey, Bella, I was hoping I'd get to see you again."

"Alice, hey," she replied, unable to resist the contagion that was Alice's smile as one of her own crept over her lips. "I didn't know you were here."

"I usually take advantage of every opportunity to see Jasper that I can, at least when he's in one place longer than twenty-four hours at a time." She rolled her eyes, clearly over the burdens of the rock-n-roll lifestyle.

Bella chuckled and closed her hotel room door. "I imagine that must be hard." She'd experienced it from time to time, herself, but in most cases, she was either on the road with Mase or they were in the studio together. No one else she'd ever dated regularly travelled anywhere.

Alice was nodding, lifting one slender shoulder in a shrug. "Well, you know, it's what he loves, and we manage with whatever time we get together. That and lots of phone calls. I can't say part of me doesn't look forward to the end of the tour, though."

Bella couldn't be sure why, but hearing Alice mention the end of the tour inspired an unexpected wave of what she could only label as anxiety to course through her. Part of her had been so ready to leave at the end of that first leg, to get back to her emotionally safer and less glamorous life as a session musician, but now the prospect was admittedly a little frightening. There was no possibility for a squeaky-clean break anymore, now that she'd allowed herself to get so far as physical intimacy with Mase. Sure, it had only been a single kiss, but things between them were never that simple, not with the ever-present currents of deeply etched feelings still obviously flowing between them.

Alice seemed to notice the battle that was going on inside Bella's head, as her expression gracefully melted into wise seriousness. "Let's go downstairs, okay? I was going to meet Jazz for a drink, and I'd like it if you joined us."

Deliberating a moment too long, Bella finally acquiesced with a nod, though part of her wanted nothing but to hide away with her racing thoughts. "Yeah, sure, I was going down there, anyway."

"I figured." The corner of Alice's lips quirked upward.

It was a _really_ nice bar. A long, curved stretch of dark, polished cherry wood took up almost half of the large room on one side, and oversized, spacious booths with tall, oxblood leather seats took up the opposite wall, tables speckled in between, and a huge, black grand piano in the far corner atop a modest stage. Bella supposed she shouldn't be surprised—it was a really lovely hotel, too. Mase spared no expense when it came to making everyone as comfortable as possible when he could, but Bella found she hadn't yet reached that point where luxury had dulled and become mundane, even expected. She hoped she never would.

The lighting was dim, and the place was mostly empty, and she suddenly felt as if she were in a 1940s period piece, soulful strains of a muted trumpet wafting from well concealed speakers to complete the mood.

It was easy enough to spot Jasper, laughing at something that someone had said from the other side of the booth, the side that they couldn't see from their vantage point. Alice bounced over without reservation, but Bella was a little more cautious, unsure if she was quite ready to come face-to-face with Mase, if he was the mystery party.

Upon approach, she recognized Seth, and sighed in relief… and, astonishingly enough, disappointment. That alone indicated that her subconsciousness had had enough of her cowardice.

With a groan, she dropped into the space beside Seth and crossed her arms on the table.

"You seem a little tense, Bella," Jasper said, looking at her with concern as he wrapped an arm around Alice's shoulders. "What's eatin' ya, darlin'?"

It was hard not to smile at Jasper's easy charm, and she instantly found herself disarmed. "I … just don't think I know what I'm doing anymore."

"Did you ever?" Seth chimed in with a wink.

She nudged him in the ribs with an elbow.

"It's Mase, right?" Alice asked bluntly.

Bella had half a mind to deny it. It was an irrational impulse—everyone in a five mile radius could feel the thick tension that had been brewing over the last several weeks between the two of them, only to spin wildly out of control the last few days. There was no hiding from this.

"Yeah," she answered sullenly. "He's kind of dodging me right now."

She could easily see Seth lifting an eyebrow at her knowingly. "Any reason why?"

Buying herself a moment, she waved to a waitress, hoping to get a drink; anything to make this conversation even remotely easier.

"I kissed him," she finally said, her eyes on the waitress as she made her way over to them.

No one said anything until after the drink orders had been placed and the waitress had walked a good distance away again.

"I thought something like that might have happened," Seth mumbled, drawing Bella's eyes to him immediately.

"Is this a bad thing?" Alice asked.

Tearing her pensive stare from Seth, Bella glanced to Alice, shrugging helplessly. "It's just a complicated thing. It was a complete lapse in judgment, and I wigged out a little. I think Mase is probably beating himself up for it." Her eyes were back on Seth in an instant. "What do you know, Seth?"

He drew in a breath and tilted his head. "He looked upset the other day. I tried to talk to him about it, but he just brushed me off and told me he'd fucked up. I had no idea what he meant, but after seeing the way he's been around you—or should I say _not_ been around you—I started thinking something happened."

"Fuck." It was nothing she hadn't expected, but hearing it confirmed somehow made it worse.

"Hey, it's not that terrible. I was thinking you'd slept with him."

She nudged in the ribs again, harder.

"Ow, cut that out," he complained. "Look, Bells, I don't think it's a big secret that you two were completely fuckin' psychotic for each other. I think you still are. I know you've got a lot of shit to sort through, but you've been talking, right?"

"I … yeah, but it's not that easy." She paused as the waitress returned, placing their drinks on the table. Only when she was once again out of earshot did she resume. "He's talking to me, yes, but he keeps alluding to all of these terrible things he's done and how he's not ready to tell me yet, and I'm trying to be patient, but … it just complicates things when I realize that I still…"

"Still what?" Alice prompted after a brief silence.

She blew out a breath slowly. "I still have feelings for him. I mean, it's nothing new, right? But I don't know. This is all different somehow, and in some ways exactly the same." Frustrated with her own inability to formulate her thoughts in any cohesive pattern, she took a long pull from her bottle of Kirin Ichiban. The momentary reprieve was enough to at least extract the fundamental crux of the problem. "I don't want to completely destroy him just because I can't get my shit together and figure out my own god damn feelings. What if these are nothing but old feelings that have nothing to do with the people we are now? What if I do get involved with him again only to find it can't work out? How much will that set us back? What if he completely relapses again?"

"Bella, just stop."

Seth's voice was firm and it startled her. When she turned to look at him, his mouth was turned down in a frown, clearly angry. "I know you have every reason to be skeptical and cautious, but believe me when I say he's grown up a lot. Even you can't deny it anymore. Give him more credit than that. Shit, even if you never see him again after this, at _least_ give him that. He's worked his ass off to stay clean these last few years, and fuck you if you think it's all contingent upon you or your approval. He did it for himself, too. You won't break him that easy."

The words were humbling, and she was promptly chagrined at how narcissistic her concerns had been. Mase had at least demonstrated that throughout these last weeks, opening up to her in ways he never had before, even if he was holding back. She couldn't blame him for taking some time to build his courage. It was still light years away from the time when he'd just shut her out entirely when things got hard.

"Bells," Seth spoke again, softer this time. "I'm sorry for lashing out, but … you get what I'm saying, don't you?"

Nodding, she swallowed hard before she opened her mouth. "Yeah, I get it."

"Besides," he added, picking up his own bottle. "I'm pretty sure that the stuff he still has to tell you isn't nearly as bad as he's made it out to be. He had a few of his own lapses in judgment, yeah, but you see how he is. He's hard on himself."

She'd considered that, but had been bracing herself to hear something horrific, just in case. One never knew when it came to Mase, especially while he'd been under the influence.

"Bella?"

Jasper's gentle voice surprised her, and she brought her eyes to the scene across the table from her—a ghost of a smile on Jasper's face, and Alice watching him with an enraptured expression.

"I just wanted to say that I don't think I've ever seen that man happier than he's been since you showed up. I don't know you that well, but I've been around him for a couple of years already. Enough to make a pretty educated guess. Pardon me if I'm stepping out of bounds, but … sometimes I just get the feelin' that he needs you in his life, in some form or another, to be at peace. I'm gettin' the impression it might be the same for you."

They were just words, from the mouth of someone that hadn't been privy to the roller coaster their relationship had been. Even so, she found herself wondering if he was absolutely dead on. The biggest complication remained, however; she had no idea how to just be his friend.

She nodded her thanks to her friends and held up her bottle, determined not to work herself into another incomprehensible mess tonight. "Cheers."

* * *

><p>"I don't know what happened between you guys, but I think you need to talk to Bella."<p>

Seth's voice pulled him from the hundredth daydream he'd been involuntarily engaged in, and Mase shook himself. Glancing around the hotel room, he remembered that they were in New Orleans, the next show still a whole day away, and then the second leg of the tour would be over and they'd head back to L.A. for a quick recharge. Christ, he needed it.

It was only after a moment he registered what Seth had said from the doorway.

"What's wrong with her?" He almost cringed at the way his voice betrayed his guilt.

The younger man just rolled his eyes and strode further into the room, throwing himself into a maroon Victorian-inspired chaise lounge. Instantly, he grimaced. "Damn, these things are harder than you'd expect."

Mase just snorted unsympathetically.

"She's all torn up over this. Just like you are."

There was a time when Mase would have adamantly denied any knowledge of what Seth was talking about, and gone about his day, stewing silently and avoiding everyone else. The instincts were there, probably always would be, but he steeled himself against the urge.

"I'm not sure what to do about it," he admitted quietly. "I kissed her, and—"

"For the record, the way she tells it, _she_ kissed _you_."

Mase leveled a look at Seth for the interruption, but then sobered as his words registered. Shaking his head, he bent down to heave his suitcase off the floor and onto the bed and began idly sorting through everything, if only to keep his hands busy. "Regardless, she probably considers it a mistake."

Seth didn't invalidate this. "Do you?"

Sighing, he thought about this. "I … no. I don't."

"Then go talk to her."

"I don't even know what the hell to say."

"How about coming clean about everything? _Everything_, Mase. She seems to have this idea in your head that you're about to tell her you've murdered helpless puppies or something."

Mase's jaw tensed. "Don't do that, Seth. Don't downplay it."

Seth released an exasperated sigh. "The girl in Memphis, right?"

Mase's fingers stilled from his absent task of refolding a black t-shirt.

Seth took it as answer enough. "Look, yes, it was a bad situation, but it could have been so much worse. I think you've paid your penance, man."

"Seth … don't."

"I'm not kidding, Mase, why are you going to keep punishing yourself for something you _almost_ did?"

"Because the fact that it could have happened at all is something that I have to live with, that I have to know about myself." Mase was struggling not to raise his voice, but he kept himself in check with a careful measure of control. Pausing for a calming breath, he neatly selected his words. "It's one thing to have finally forgiven myself, but whether or not she can is something else entirely."

Seth considered this, looking thoughtfully at the floor before bringing his dark eyes back up to Mase. "The fact that you want her forgiveness so bad is kind of telling, you know?"

Mase was silent for a long moment before his shoulders dropped from a defensive state he hadn't realized he was in. "Maybe it is."

"So what's the problem? You're going to have to tell her one way or another, and the sooner you know—good or bad—the better, right? If you're going to build anything with her, why not start now? If she's going to split, which I doubt will happen, why not get it over with before you end up even more invested?"

Seth had a knack for laying things out in plain, concise words, and Mase had to give him some credit for it. Even the idea that Iz wouldn't be able to get past what he had to tell her was already painful, and he knew now he was in this too deep. These last several weeks spent with her, talking with her, composing music together … he should have known the inevitability. How many times had he compared the similarities and the differences, old Iz juxtaposed with new Iz? The only differences he'd found were merely improvements.

Before he could finish his thought, Seth spoke again. "Or maybe don't tell her yet. No one can make you do anything you don't want to, Mase. If you don't feel like you're ready, then, hey, that's your call. Just think about it."

Offering a solemn nod, Mase then pondered quietly for a good few minutes, knowing full well that Seth was watching him, waiting for him to say or do something. He took his time with his thoughts, however.

He wanted to believe he'd truly grown up these last six years, especially within the last three since he'd been clean. He was thirty-three now, and things that had once been the focus of his universe, everything that had ever seemed to important, was now utterly trivial in retrospect. Lessons were learned, flavors of regret, and specters of lost opportunities still lingered, but where he'd once considered these things burdens, he now thought of them solely as tools.

One thing was for sure; he wasn't getting any younger. Youth was mostly irrelevant, he'd come to learn, but time wasted was another thing altogether. No longer could he regret that he'd lost these six years.

But what did he do with the time he had left? He was stronger now, no longer dependent on the things he'd so fiercely believed had sustained him; drugs, music, even Iz herself. But history couldn't be ignored, primarily his own. If he put himself out there and exposed his vulnerability to her, would he be able to withstand the possible disintegration of their relationship if things failed to work out between them all over again?

It would be different this time, he knew. He was long past the point of chemical-fueled screaming matches and name-calling. If things didn't work, it would be a much quieter death, maybe in some ways more heartbreaking as a result. He didn't think he could love someone like Iz and come out of it unscathed.

But the alternative was not trying at all, and he was done with sabotaging himself every step of the way.

Digesting that thought, he brought his eyes toward Seth, who sat patiently waiting.

"When you're right, you're right, man."

"You're going to talk to her, then?"

He considered this carefully. "Yeah. I think I still need to work up to the worst of it, but … I know the consequences of not doing anything at all."

Seth shrugged, a grin climbing over his smug expression. "Do it your way, man, but just do it before she decides you hate her and goes home."

Easier said than done, Mase thought with a flutter of anxiety in his gut.

* * *

><p><strong>Thanks for the quick beta, Fran! <strong>

**Hi, kids! As you may have noticed, I'm trying to post every Monday. Those frustrated with the tension—sit tight. Things will start to get more interesting next chapter. **

**Thank you so much for your reviews, faves, and follows. They really make me smile. **

**Now some news—this story was rec'd over on ****The Lemonade Stand**** for the fic of the week contest (thank you, Fran!). I by no means expect to even come close to winning, but I humbly ask that, if you enjoy this story, you go submit a vote. And even further, to send a review my way. I always want to know what you think. If you don't, I won't hold it against you too hard. So please go vote! It's at ****www dot tehlemonadestand dot net****. Do it, do it! **


	11. If Ever You Should Decide

**I don't know if anyone ever actually follows this sort of recommendation, but if you want to hear a great song that seriously influenced the way this chapter ultimately ended up (and gave me this chapter's title), listen to **_**Will Do**_** by the always great TV on the Radio. **

**With that, I unapologetically submit to you the eleventh chapter of **_**Tantum**_**. :D**

* * *

><p>11. If Ever You Should Decide<p>

Bella never thought she'd have any reason to miss the virtually ever-present traffic on the 405 freeway, but she found herself oddly comforted by the familiarity of it—the smell of ocean and exhaust, a sea of red tail lights, a symphony of honking horns, and a seventy degree breeze sliding in through the inch of open driver's side window.

She wondered how long it would take for the effect to wear off.

They'd barely arrived back in town just shy of two hours ago, and already her mind was racing, any relief at being home laughably short-lived. There was too much to think about.

As they'd been closing up a post-tour leg meeting at Mase's house, Mase had pulled her aside and hit her with questions she wasn't sure she was prepared to answer. Her hesitation could have been that their friendship was still a little tenuous after the incident on the bus, but she knew that was merely an excuse, an avoidance tactic. Granted, they had barely had time to discuss much of _anything_, since they'd flown home directly after New Orleans. In two days, they would meet back up to sort through the equipment once the tour buses arrived back in L.A., and she'd have to have some answers by then.

She knew the things Mase was asking of her might take a little more time to consider, and she was pretty sure Mase knew it, too. That didn't make it any easier.

Admittedly, his first request was much easier than the second. He'd told her that he wanted to put some of the song ideas they'd been toying with down on record, and wanted to know if she'd be willing to spend some time in the studio, tinkering out new material for a potential new album. It had taken her nearly every grain of restraint she had not to reply with a resounding _fuck yeah_ right off the bat. Of course she wanted to do it. If this tour had taught her anything, it was that she loved composing, especially with someone as talented as Mase, and she'd missed that from her life as a studio musician more than anything. But she'd quickly come to realize it wasn't just _someone_ as talented as Mase. She'd plainly missed what the two of them were capable of together, and she'd never met anyone else that had come close.

The second request was a silent one, contingent upon her answer of the first, but it stood between them as clear as day. If she maintained any sort of working relationship with him, she knew she'd be as good as a permanent part of _Tantum _once again. Sure, she could draw the line, say no, but it wasn't bloody likely as far as she was concerned—if she composed new music with Mase, she couldn't go half-assed. Her sense of musical integrity wouldn't allow it. At least for a while, she'd tour with him, let the fans experience the music the way the new material was intended, before she'd be willing to hand the reins over again to whomever her permanent replacement might be. But it was clear they still had a spark for composing together, and the cycle would be perpetuated. If drugs were no longer a factor to throw a wrench in things, it might well go on forever.

She'd be lying to herself to deny that the spark exceeded the boundaries of music making, as well. It had all but been etched in stone at this point that they still had unbelievable chemistry. It wasn't as though they'd parted from any lack of love, but instead purely for her own self-preservation. They were different, but the same. They were the evolved versions of themselves, harder and softer in the right places, settled into their places in this world. If they'd all but eliminated the sources of destruction that had pushed them apart in the beginning, what might buffer this inevitable fall?

Furthermore, was it futile to resist? Perhaps even a great transgression to deny what she knew they had between them?

A blaring horn from the lane next to her jolted her from her thoughts, and she realized her phone was buzzing from the passenger seat. Not bothering to think too much about the unfamiliar number on the screen, she hastily accepted the call and hit the speakerphone button.

"Hello?"

"_Bella?_"

Her brow furrowed as she tried to place the voice before it finally clicked.

"Jacob?" Why the hell was Jacob Black calling her? And on her cell phone—a number she knew she hadn't given him? Lauren was clearly still sucking at her job back at Entity Records.

"_Yeah, Mike told me you'd be getting back in town today, so I thought I'd try to get in touch_."

"Oh, is there a problem on one of the tracks? I can probably make it in the studio this week for a retake if you need it."

She wasn't sure what to make of the fact that he began chuckling nervously.

"_No, no, the tracks are great. We're getting close to finishing up and moving into post-production_."

"That's great, Jacob." She couldn't help but roll her eyes, taking a hand off the wheel to roughly comb a hand through her brown hair, tangled and disorderly from the hours of travel. "So… what's up?"

She could hear him clear his throat, muffled as though he'd pulled the phone away briefly. "_I, uh … was wondering if you had a free evening sometime this week. I'd like to take you out._"

Mouth falling open, Bella blinked several times, struggling to formulate a cohesive sentence. The car next to her blared its horn again, and she closed her mouth, reaching for the crank to roll up her window. She'd need some silence for this exchange.

* * *

><p>"I think that's everything, Mase."<p>

Mase looked up from the mixing board to see Demetri and Felix exiting the practice room, and gave a nod.

"The kit ready to go?" He asked.

"All set up the way she likes it," Felix replied with a poorly concealed smirk.

Mase chose not to acknowledge it. "Thanks, guys. Have a good break, and I'll see you when we start up rehearsals again."

The six-week break would serve as both a blessing and a curse. Six weeks. So much time to make or break the future of the tour, the band, the music. Mase's sanity and heart. He'd have to approach this carefully, really take his time with getting this right.

He owed Iz so much and he'd been putting it off for far too long. Still, he had to be true to himself, true to his feelings. He wouldn't force anything he wasn't ready for.

And he wouldn't hide from what he _was _ready for.

There was a lot of ambiguity left in that resolution, but a resolution it was. He was going to trust himself to make the right decisions this time around.

Glancing down at the black screen of his phone, placed purposefully beside the board, he thought of calling Iz. She was supposed to come by today, pick up the stuff she hadn't wanted to haul onto the plane with her, and hopefully give him some sort of indication about where their future might end up.

Sure, nothing big.

Jaw twitching as he chewed on his indecision, he reached for his phone four times then pulled back before he finally picked it up.

He was just scrolling through his contacts for her number when two voices filtered into the room.

"So he just called you on a number you didn't give him and asked you out?" Seth was asking dubiously.

"Yep. Made the trip home a little more interesting at least."

As he instantly recognized Iz's voice, Mase's insides clenched as he registered the implications of the conversation he was overhearing.

"Who?" He bit out as soon as they appeared in the doorway of the studio, the word forming itself before he could stop it.

Iz and Seth both stopped promptly, heads whipping toward Mase.

Seth had an unreadable expression on his face. "Jacob Black. Bella was doing a session for him just before we left. Guess she left an impression."

The name was vaguely familiar, and Mase was scrolling through mental catalogues of names he'd come across recently, until he remembered the article he'd seen in _Spin_ about up and coming artists. Jacob Black was young and apparently talented, the thumbnail image he'd seen revealing the kid as young, good-looking, clean-cut type.

Mase was historically quick to anger, but the force of emotion that hit him when he considered that Iz might actually date the kid surprised him. She couldn't actually be considering it, could she?

What about everything that had been undeniably happening between the two of them recently?

The question was simultaneously accompanied by a harsh dose of reality—she was free to do whatever she wanted because he'd been a pussy about this whole thing from the beginning. He had yet to clarify where she stood with him, and where he knew he now wanted to stand with her. They'd danced around each other, stolen some sweet, secret moments of pure cathexis, and a single electric kiss, but no part of this had been solidified by either of them in words or actions.

That was all going to change. So long, careful approach.

Iz had moved on into the practice room with Seth, apparently oblivious to or just plain unmoved by Mase's internal struggle, and he determinately followed, yanking the door open.

She spoke up before he had a chance to even open his mouth.

"Hey, I was thinking about what you asked me."

Her eyes were on the DW kit that the roadies had finished setting up just minutes before, before she broke her gaze to rifle through the bag she'd carried in with her.

A lump formed in his throat and he stood still in the doorway. Would she end it all now before he'd even had a chance to share with her this newfound revelation of his?

"…And?"

It was then he noticed she had a small smile curling her lips, though she still had yet to look at him. "My answer is… yes."

No further explanation. No qualifiers. No provisions. Nothing but a concise and eloquent answer, and he was overcome. Resolved. Done with tiptoeing around.

"I can't take this anymore," he declared roughly.

Her eyes were on his instantly, and she recoiled, likely misinterpreting the intensity she saw in his face. "I'm … I'm … I mean, I was just thinking that we could start with the one we were playing around with on the bus. Most of the framework is done, so…"

"Iz," he tried to interrupt her rambling, glancing at Seth as he skirted past them and out the door with a growing smirk on his face. Mase would worry about him later.

She hadn't heard him or was ignoring him entirely. "We can work up to something more … involved. Later. Unless you've changed your mind." Her voice had trailed off into a whisper, her chocolate brown gaze dropping to the floor.

Swallowing, agonized at the hurt he was seeing in her face, he began to step toward her, slowly. "Iz, listen to me. I haven't changed my mind."

The pain eased from her expression and she met his eyes once again. "Oh, good. Because I have some really good ideas, and I've been dying to show you." She once again resumed the search through her bag, pulling a pair of drumsticks out a second later.

"I lied," he blurted out. She stilled again, her eyes fixed to his face once more. "I can't be your friend. I can't fucking handle it."

He could easily see the movement in her throat, her head tilting as she braced herself for his next words, and it suddenly occurred to him that she might have been expecting exactly what he'd say next.

"I still love you," he said plainly, sick of avoidance and vague words. It was the truth and it wasn't fair to either of them to deny it. "I need you to be part of my life. As more than just a friend."

When her expression didn't change, he knew his assumption was correct. She _had_ expected it. He didn't know what to make of that. She'd obviously come here with the intention of sticking around, so his feelings couldn't be any sort of deterrent. What did that mean for hers?

Tense, willing his hands not to tremble, he waited as her eyes shifted first to the floor, then to the drum kit, and finally back to him. He wasn't sure he liked what he saw there.

"I love you, too," she replied weakly, still tightly clutching her sticks.

The delivery of those sacred words left him reeling, teetering on the edge of a precipice. Joy and terror warred against each other—he couldn't be certain she was actually happy about this.

Still, he stepped closer, determined not to let this shake him. With patience that would once have been uncharacteristic of him, he didn't speak, leaving the silence in the air hers to fill. He wouldn't let her off with a distraction, or an easy way out.

After several moments, she spoke again, shadows clouding her eyes. "But I'm not sure about our future, Mase."

He was inches away by now, and he lowered his face to peer into those deep, mahogany orbs, alight with a brilliant, glowing flame. It was all the answer he needed. "Fuck that. I _am_."

* * *

><p>He was waiting for her, for some sort of signal that she wanted to run; she could read it in his hesitation. Not for the first time, she was observing Edward Masen being mindful of someone other than himself, but she knew this was infinitely more meaningful than anything he'd done for her these past weeks.<p>

Bella knew exactly what he was giving her—a choice and a chance to take absolute responsibility for herself.

A question formed in her mind, but it wasn't one that needed to be spoken, for it was only she who could provide the answer—the answer that had made itself abundantly clear, and she was only now figuring it out.

Being inherently good was not better than succeeding in the great effort to overcome one's darkest nature. Mase kept proving that he'd done just that, and she didn't want to continue hanging him for something he'd clearly hung himself over and ultimately conquered.

It was with this simple conclusion that she stepped forward, literally and figuratively, and dropped her sticks on the floor. There would be no doubt of it this time; she was the one to place her lips against his, an offering to share with him this affirmation.

A moan reverberated against her mouth, deep and masculine, and his arms instantly came around her, holding her firmly flush with his body. It was only seconds before she found her own hands at his waist, tugging at the hem of his shirt and skimming up his back, taking the fabric in tow.

Reluctantly, their kiss broke for just enough time to get the shirt over his head and discarded noisily over the crash cymbal.

She hadn't really intended for things to go this way. She figured they would need to talk now that they'd established that they had the same goal in mind for the direction of their relationship, to figure out all those complicated issues like boundaries and sorting out all of those hurt feelings they'd both harbored for so long. It was becoming clearer, however, that they'd mostly done that already—it was something they'd accomplished during all those years apart, the way it had always had to have happened. There were still things to discuss, they both knew it, but most of the healing had occurred long before. They were the best of themselves right here, right now, and holding out for answers about a future they'd never be able to predict was a waste of unrecoverable time.

For now there were more important matters at hand, matters like his hands running down the length of her back, gathering a gentle fistful of her hair, and his lips making a trail down her neck, his breath so warm against her skin.

"Mase," she breathed as her head tilted back, eyes wide open and unfocused on the ceiling of the practice room. "The door..."

He seemed to understand what she was not articulating all that well, and he turned them around, lips finding hers once again as he urged her backwards, toward the open door of the room.

Somehow, blindly fumbling the whole way with stubborn refusal to allow more than centimeters between them, they found their way up the stairs, down the hall, and into the bedroom they'd both once known so intimately. Bella had managed to lose her own shirt somewhere along the way, along with her boots, and was now contending with Mase's belt.

When the backs of her knees hit the edge of the bed, she let herself fall backward, her hold on the leather strip enough to bring him down with her.

It wasn't the first time she'd thought it, but it never failed to surprise her. In so many ways, it felt as though nothing had changed. Of course, it had, in all the right ways, but this was a piece of their past, the time when they'd been so devoted to each other, so happy, committed to enriching each other's lives in every possible capacity—it had felt just like this.

The urgency made them clumsy, but it seemed neither of them had forgotten this routine, demonstrated in the way his fingers would dance over that delicate skin on the back of her neck that always shot tingles down her spine, to the way he'd brush over the back of her knees once he'd managed to pull her jeans from her legs, then pull her wrist to his lips, ghosting over the tender skin at the inside—all places he knew drove her nearly to the brink of begging. She returned in kind, fingernails playfully scratching against his hips as she pulled the fabric of his pants from him, then up the sides of his ribs, eliciting a sharp gasp.

It was all as though not a second was lost between them, and the thought brought a sudden devastation she wasn't prepared for, at just how finite time really was. She didn't know what the future would hold for them, but she knew she couldn't let more time evade her. It was this that propelled her, no more fabric or hang ups or doubts obstructing them—save for a hastily found condom from the nightstand, and she slid a hand between their bodies, grasping him firmly and bringing him to her entrance, permitting, _pleading_ without words.

A breath slid sharply in between his teeth, and he broke the kiss he'd just placed against the corner of her jaw, bringing his eyes up to meet hers.

It wasn't a question, but a confirmation; mutual recognition that this was happening and neither had any desire to stop it.

"Edward," she rasped raggedly, watching the change in his eyes as he absorbed the significance of what she'd just said.

His eyes closed tightly and his forehead pressed against hers, his hips pressing forward, eliciting an involuntary sound from her lips, halfway between a moan and a gasp, as he slowly slid into her.

"Fuck," he whispered once he was firmly inside to the hilt, the breath of the word warm against her mouth, and she tilted her chin to capture it, lips against lips.

A few still, agonizing seconds later, he finally began to drag his hips back, then ever so slowly push back in, and she realized he was shaking all over.

Or perhaps it was she who shook, overwhelmed by the sudden sensory overload, physical and psychological.

It didn't matter, though, as she found herself quickly swept up in a flurry of desperation, her hips rising to meet his, fingers seeking purchase anywhere she could find, his back, his hips, anything that would offer some leverage or urge him on deeper and faster. He responded in equal measure, unsteady and arrhythmic, evidently as affected by the urgency as she.

It wasn't the time for a slow, painstaking rediscovery of each other. This was a frantic reclaiming, an elegy of opportunities lost and a revelry for paradise regained, and it went without saying that there would be time for tenderness and exploration later. She clung steadfast to him, a volley of grosgrain moans and broken whimpers spilling over as she rapidly approached the edge.

In seconds, she was shattering, a hoarse cry erupting from her throat as she felt him follow her but a moment later, his face buried in the crook of her neck, shuddering violently above her and releasing a strangled groan in the blanket of hair beneath her.

It took her a series of deep breaths to slow her heart and become cognizant of her surroundings once again, only then recognizing that Mase was speaking, words muffled and weak, but indubitably reverent.

"I love you, Iz," he was saying. "I've never loved anything in this world more. I won't make you doubt that again."

A smile unfurled over her lips, and she didn't think she'd ever spoken truer words.

"I believe you."

* * *

><p><strong>Thank you so much for your reviews, faves, recs, follows, and mostly your patience. It was a crazy couple of weeks, so I got behind schedule, and didn't reply to all the reviews I'd intended to.<strong>

**HUGE thanks to the help I received—the beta of SunflowerFran, Cejsmom for the encouraging words and read-through, and TwilightMomofTwo for just being there after all this time! **

_**Tantum**_** didn't win the poll at The Lemonade Stand, not even close (though I wasn't last!), but I'm honored to have been considered, and so, **_**so**_** grateful for everyone that voted (or attempted to). I may not have tons of reviews and readers, but man, I've got the best in the bunch, I'm pretty damn certain. Thank you eternally.**


End file.
